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Boyfriend.
Shane liked the feel of it on his tongue. He rolled it back and forth, trying to make sense of it. He had a boyfriend. He was a boyfriend. He was his boyfriend’s boyfriend.
Ilya had said it so easily in front of his parents. As if the word had always been there. As if he understood everything that went with it.
In contrast, Shane had been a boyfriend for one month, and it still hadn’t settled, the word still fizzing uncomfortably in his stomach.
He was going to fuck it up, Shane was certain of that. He’d only dated two people before, and Jessica was probably still telling her friends tales of Shane’s shortcomings. He couldn’t even blame her when little bits of information got back to him through a long line of gossiping neighbors and intrusive mothers. He had been terrible. He had broken up with her over the phone. He had forgotten her birthday. He hadn’t bought her anything for Valentine’s Day. He deserved every sideways glance at Ottawa’s local grocery store and his lifetime ban from the coffee shop Jessica’s brother ran.
He considered texting Rose to ask her if she thought he had been a good boyfriend, but every time he started typing it out, he got a flash of the one time they had tried to have sex that ended with Shane running out of the room, yelling that coach had wanted him to watch some game tape and that he had to do it right then and there. (In actuality, he had gone to watch a bit of porn, trying to get hard, but had to stare at the wall reflecting on his life choices when he realized that he hadn’t even considered looking up straight porn. He had put the phone down and slumped guiltily back into his bedroom, where Rose had already fallen asleep.)
So he already had two strikes against him in the ‘boyfriend game.’ He couldn’t afford that third strike. Three strikes and he was out. He would probably have to leave the country at that point or get him to a nunnery or something like that. (Could men even join convents? Could gay men join convents? Maybe Shane should learn about Catholicism before committing his life and dick to it.)
Shane also really wanted this relationship to actually succeed. He wanted it so badly. He wanted to be a good boyfriend to Ilya. He felt like a middle school girl with a crush. He wanted to pass Ilya little notes with two boxes labeled ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to ask him to the school dance. He wanted to pick little weeds on his way to school that he thought were flowers, and hide them carefully in his pocket so that he could pass them to Ilya in the hallway on his way to gym class.
But right now, he was lying in his bed in Montreal, miles away from Ilya, and scrolling through their texts, looking for any discrepancies. Were they getting less frequent, or was Shane imagining it? Had Shane texted him good morning yesterday? Fuck, he had forgotten. Did Ilya seem angry about it? He had sent him a photo of a dog. Did the dog look different than the ten he sent him the day before? Was the fact that the dog was frowning indicative of his mood? Was Shane supposed to keep track of which dogs he sent and when?
Ilya’s texts seemed a lot less sweet than they had an hour ago. Now, they were glaring at him like a particularly indecipherable hockey play.
But Shane knew how to handle the plays his coaches gave him. They required notes, study, and practice.
Shane reached over to his nightstand, pulling his laptop onto his knees and flipping open the notebook that permanently lived beside it. He slid the pen from the notebook's spirals and clicked it once.
He googled until he found the site that he wanted.
Perfect.
He put on his glasses so that he could read Love Coach Lauren's post more clearly.
He clicked the page, copying the blog title to the top of the sheet, underlining it with a thick black pen.
‘Ten Easy Steps to Being a Good Boyfriend.’
And if Shane drew a little heart over the ‘i’, that was between him and God.
1. Buy her flowers! Even if she says she doesn’t want them, she secretly does.
Ilya was singing loudly in his car on the way to practice. He had recently created a different playlist for his drives, and he refused to let Marleau’s judgmental glances over at him from the passenger seat stop him from throwing on every single happy love song in Taylor Swift’s discography.
Marly groaned loudly when Bruno Mars’s “Just the Way You Are” sounded through the car speakers.
“Roz. I am begging you to turn this off. What happened to the Russian rap?” Marly whined.
“You miss the Russian rap? I thought you hated it,” he responded.
“I didn’t realize there was a worse option,” Marleau grumbled.
Ilya said nothing in return, but decided to yell the chorus even louder.
“AND WHEN YOU SMILE—come on, Marly, you have to sing—THE WHOLE WORLD STOPS AND STARES FOR A WHILE. BECAUSE YOU’RE AMAZING—Marly, you are still not singing—JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.”
“I’m riding with Connors tomorrow,” Marleau only muttered as Ilya continued to sing, pausing only to laugh at him.
Together, the two of them marched into the Raiders’ training facility with Ilya still humming Adele’s ‘Make You Feel My Love.’ Marleau was walking considerably farther ahead of Ilya as if he were trying to escape him, which Ilya thought was dumb. He could only run away for so long. And it was Ilya’s turn to be in charge of the Raiders’ practice music, so he was only running towards greater danger.
When they reached the locker room, Marly stopped suddenly in front of him, causing Ilya to crash into him.
“Marly, what the fuck? You have never walked before?” Ilya groaned, holding his arm, which had smacked into the back of Marly’s bag.
His smile dropped when he saw Marleau’s face, which was slowly turning towards him.
“Marly, what is it?” he said worriedly.
“Roz…” Marly hesitated.
“Marleau, just say it. Did St. Simone finally die from the smell of Carmichael’s socks? What?”
“I think your girlfriend is cheating on you,” Marly rushed out.
Ilya blinked at him.
Now, this was surprising to Ilya for two reasons. One, Ilya didn’t have a girlfriend. And two, Shane would probably have keeled over and died if he had cheated on Ilya.
“Marleau,” Ilya began slowly. “Why do you think that the girlfriend that I do not have is cheating on me?”
Marleau winced. He vaguely heard someone from the locker room whisper, ‘Oh man, he’s in denial.’
Impatiently, Ilya pushed past Marleau, stepping into the locker room.
His jaw dropped.
His locker was surrounded by half a dozen Raiders, all looking at him sadly.
And the locker was covered in about six dozen roses.
He blinked at the scene, trying to make sense of it.
Connors tutted sympathetically, walking over to pat Ilya on the back. “It’s okay, bud. Plenty of fish in the sea.”
“Yeah man, fuck Jane,” St. Simone called.
Ilya flinched, looking at St. Simone in shock. “How do you know Jane?”
“Uh,” St. Simone glanced at the group awkwardly. “It’s on the card? The one on all the flowers?”
“They’re not just flowers, St. Simone. They’re Juliet garden roses,” Hammersmith whispered.
“How the fuck do you know that?” Marly asked with an incredulous expression.
“Hey, I know stuff! These are expensive fucking flowers!”
“Ham, you wouldn’t know one end of the hockey stick from the other,” Marly retorted.
Ilya walked towards the pale pink flowers, picking up the card that was attached to one of them. Sure enough, the note read ‘Love, Jane.’
He set the note down carefully and turned to the group in confusion.
“Why do you think Jane is cheating on me?” he asked, frowning.
“Roz, this is a classic move,” Connors stated. “Girls never get guys flowers unless they’ve done something really bad.”
“Not just girls, man. Marly has to send flowers to Michelle every week,” St. Simone added solemnly.
“Hey fuck you, man. I send those because I love her,” Marly called back.
“Tell that to the girls Michelle keeps seeing you dance with on roadies,” Hammersmith said dryly.
“Ham, you are really getting on my last nerve today,” Marly hissed at him.
Ilya stared at the flowers while his teammates continued to bicker behind him. He drew one of the roses out of its bouquet and held it gently, turning to face the rest of the group, who started shushing each other.
“Roz, I’m so sorry. I know you really liked Jane,” Marly said softly,
“She did not cheat on me. Roses are romantic, yes?” Ilya said firmly.
“Not six dozen roses, dude,” Marly remarked, turning to the rest of the group, who all nodded in confirmation.
“Yeah man, no one sends six dozen roses if everything is going well,” Carmichael added.
“Everything is going great. She did not cheat,” Ilya said, but even he heard his voice waver.
Shane had never sent him flowers before. Ilya had no idea what would have caused this sudden shift in behavior. Shane didn’t even like flowers. His house was filled with scentless things. Scentless soaps. Scentless lotion. Even scentless candles, which made no sense to Ilya. Why even have the candle?
Shane always said the smells gave him a headache. Ilya had responded by replacing all the scented items in his house with unscented alternatives.
Connors patted him on the back again. “If you say so, Roz, you know her better than we do.”
Ilya nodded at him, but as he turned back to the frankly absurd number of flowers, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe he didn’t.
2. Tell her that her outfit looks nice. She put in the effort! She wants to know it paid off!
Ilya could tell Shane was acting weird, but he tried to ignore it. They were going to see each other after the game, and everything would be fine. Everything would be normal. These stupid hockey players knew nothing. Never trust a group of men with twenty concussions between them.
He leaned over the face-off circle with Shane, glancing up at him through his visor. Shane looked a little nervous as he fiddled with his stick.
Ilya inhaled sharply. Shane never looked nervous playing hockey.
The two of them waited, now both anxious, for the ref to skate over for the puck drop.
Shane suddenly cleared his throat, and Ilya raised his eyebrows.
“You look nice today,” Shane said quickly.
Ilya gave him a pointed expression, and Shane blushed.
“I like your…your jersey. It’s very…um…white. Very clean,” Shane finished.
Ilya looked down at his jersey. Half of the left side was stained blue from a bottle of Gatorade Connors had spilled on him during the break. He looked back up at Shane.
Shane only blushed again and leaned over his stick.
The ref finally skated over and dropped the puck.
Shane sped off with it, leaving a dazed Ilya behind.
3. Don't text too much! She'll think you're clingy!
Shane you will never believe what Ham did in practice today
Is crazy
…
Shane?
This is where you say: what Ilya? What is so crazy?
…
Okay I tell you anyway
He tripped over his own feet and fell onto ice so hard he lost two teeth
He says they were already loose
We know is a lie
He has braces now
You must make fun of him during next game
Will not know what to do if perfect Shane Hollander makes fun of his teeth
Who knows
Might trip again
Lose more teeth
…
Shane?
…
……..
Shaaaaaane?
…
Okay I will not bother you. I am sorry
4. Compliment her appearance. Try to be specific
Ilya was trying not to panic. Shane was weird. Shane had always been weird. Ilya loved Shane’s weirdness.
Everything was fine.
Shane came over to his house after their game, and Ilya had made sure to triple-check that everything was perfect. The sheets were washed with the right laundry detergent, not the itchy kind. There was a blanket on the chair across the room just in case Ilya accidentally stole all the sheets in the middle of the night and Shane got cold. He had even lit a candle (unscented) in his room to add to the ambiance.
They had amazing sex. Fantastic sex, really. As always. Shane wouldn’t have had great sex with Ilya if something was wrong, right?
They were now lying in bed together, bare-chested. Shane was tracing the muscles on his arm while Ilya scrolled through his phone.
Shane's eyes drifted thoughtfully across Ilya's chest.
“Your lats are looking good,” Shane said suddenly.
Ilya put the phone down to stare at him. Shane looked back at him with wide, eager eyes.
“My what?”
“Your lats. They look good.”
Ilya blinked at him.
He blinked again.
Shane’s smile started to drop the longer Ilya didn’t say anything back.
"Well, not just your lats. Everything really. You look...really well-conditioned. I mean, your resting heart rate is probably impressive. Your muscle symmetry is excellent."
Ilya squinted at him, and Shane squirmed.
His fucking what? His fucking heart rate?
Ilya frowned. Was Shane trying to tell him something about the sex? Did Shane think he could have gone longer?
“Do…do you want my routine?” Ilya asked carefully.
Now it was Shane’s turn to frown. “No, that’s not—I just—you just look good is all,” Shane stammered out.
Ilya tilted his head slightly. “Okay…” he said slowly.
Shane nodded quickly, rolling onto his side. He saw Shane pull out his phone and open his notes app. Shane glanced back at him before tilting further to hide the phone from him.
Was he hiding his phone now? They had never done that. Not even before they were dating.
Fuck, something was wrong, wasn’t it?
5. Surprise her
Ilya was going through a slump. He had played three terrible games, and his coaches were giving him concerned expressions. He couldn’t stand the little shoulder pats from his dumb fucking teammates either.
And it was all Shane Hollander’s fault.
Shane was going to break up with him. He knew it. He didn’t know why he had expected anything else.
He started looking at pictures of Shane more, trying to memorize every feature. He would take inventory of the things the photos couldn’t show. Did Shane have a freckle under his left eyebrow? This 2012 interview made it look like he did, but the 2014 one didn’t. He would have to check when Shane was here.
He was starting to get a little overwhelmed by the list of things he had to make sure to appreciate the next time he saw Shane. Eyebrow freckle. The way his mouth folds into his cheek when he smiles. The little scar on his back. He didn’t even know where Shane had gotten that scar. He would have to ask.
He needed to know all of these things before Shane broke up with him. He had always been greedy, and now he wanted every piece of Shane that he could get before he was gone.
There were so many things he couldn’t remember about his mother. The way her laugh sounded when Ilya had snuck a frog into their house. The scent of the bottle of perfume she always kept in her purse. The way her eyes looked at him when he told her how his practice went.
He was determined to remember those things about Shane. Even if he couldn’t keep him.
Ilya walked into his house after another particularly bad game and angrily flung his bag into the closet.
It made a loud clattering sound.
Ilya froze.
He replayed the sound in his head.
There had been another sound. A sound that wasn’t the bag. Somewhere else in his house.
His eyes widened.
Someone was in his house.
He ran down a list of people it could be. None of his teammates knew the code to the front door except for Marly, and he was currently on a ‘I swear I won’t cheat on you again’ date with Michelle (thoughts and prayers to him). The only other person with a code who lived in Boston was Svetlana, and she was currently in Russia visiting family.
That only left one possibility.
Someone had broken in.
Slowly, Ilya leaned into the closet, his eyes not leaving the entryway, and grabbed a hockey stick that he kept there. He held it out in front of him and slowly made his way into the kitchen.
He did a full turn, holding his stick over his head, ready to swing at the first sign of movement.
Nothing was out of the ordinary. Not a single drawer or cabinet had been opened.
Which was suspicious.
Why break into a house and not go through anything? Ilya kept his car keys on a hook next to the garage door. Looking back at them now, he found them all carefully hanging, not a single one out of place.
So why…
Oh God.
It wasn’t a burglar, was it?
It was a murderer.
Ilya had received a few deeply unserious death threats over the years. There had been another one just last week, which meant they all had to take extra precautions when entering the arena on game day. It pissed them all off. It pissed Ilya off. And everyone knew that nothing ever came of them. It was usually just an angry Metros fan trying to get revenge for his team.
Ilya wished he had taken them more seriously now. Why the fuck had security let him go home by himself? They had a crazed Metros fan on their hands!
Should he call the cops?
He heard a loud clatter coming from his bedroom. Fuck, they were planning on killing them in his sleep.
He took a couple of fast breaths in and out. He was not going to die like this. He was Ilya fucking Rozanov.
Ilya very carefully set the hockey stick down on the counter and quietly opened one of the kitchen drawers.
He drew the knife out from it and held it in front of him, willing his hands to get a grip and stop shaking so much.
He was going to show them. He had the upper hand. They didn’t know that he knew they were here. If they thought he was just going to waltz into his own bedroom and go quietly, they had another thing coming for them.
He slowly walked towards the room, listening for more noises. He almost threw up when he heard the soft patter of footsteps from the other side of the door.
His hand reached for the doorknob, holding the knife higher.
Suddenly, the door opened without Ilya even touching it.
He screamed and dropped the knife.
Fuck he was so dead.
The murderer screamed too, which Ilya thought was a choice.
“WHAT THE FUCK! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE A FUCKING KNIFE?” Shane yelled, jumping back.
Ilya blinked.
“SHANE? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
All the adrenaline suddenly rushed into his throat, and Ilya bent over, breathing quickly.
“Oh my God, Shane, I thought I was dead. I thought you were going to kill me,” he yelled, trying not to puke all over his hardwood floors. They had been recently stained. (Shane had made a comment about how light they were.)
“Why the fuck would I kill you? I wanted to surprise you!” Shane yelled back. He was also breathing hard.
Ilya tilted his head up so that he could look at Shane’s horrified expression and let out a short, gasping laugh.
“Holy shit. Holy fuck, I was so scared. Oh my God, I am so glad you are not trying to kill me. I would have been dead for sure.”
“Why did you grab a fucking knife? Were you going to stab me?”
“What! Shane, no. Would never stab you,” Ilya said, coughing slightly. He couldn’t get up from his crouched position, but he reached over and grabbed Shane’s pant leg, giving it what he hoped was a comforting and supportive tug.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I was just trying to surprise you,” Shane whimpered.
Ilya let his arm crawl up Shane’s body, grabbing his shoulder to help lift himself up.
“Good job. I am very surprised,” Ilya said, still using Shane to keep him on his feet.
“Wow, okay. Let’s get you seated before you pass out,” Shane said.
Ilya nodded. “Good idea. You always have good ideas.”
“Yeah, well. I’m starting to think my idea to come fly down for the weekend might have had some flaws,” Shane said, guiding him into the room and onto his bed.
“No, is perfect. I love it. No notes,” Ilya remarked between breaths.
Shane glanced at the knife that was still on the floor of the hallway.
“I can’t believe you grabbed a knife,” Shane said, shaking his head.
Ilya’s face paled even more than it already had, which he wouldn’t have thought was possible.
Fuck.
He’d almost stabbed his boyfriend.
If Shane wasn’t going to break up with him before, he was definitely going to now.
6. Leave her little notes. Tell her you appreciate her.
Ilya had begun to accept that he was in the end times. He tried to figure out how much he could start tastefully stealing from Shane. Shane’s hoodie? His. Shane’s spatula? In his backpack. Shane’s glasses? Okay, well, he only stole those for a day before returning them. He wore them around the house, trying to look at the world the way Shane saw it. Apparently, the way Shane saw it gave him a fucking headache. He should have known.
Shane had also started to leave little notes all over his house. Most of them were things he could improve, which Ilya took careful note of. Maybe if he could improve all of them, Shane would have second thoughts about leaving him.
‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth!’ Shane thought kissing him was gross.
‘I left one of my sweatshirts for you in the closet. I found one of my other ones in your bag, so I thought you might appreciate this one :)’ Shane hated the way he dressed. And had discovered that he was a kleptomaniac.
‘Have fun at practice!’ Shane thought he needed to be better at hockey.
‘I love you.’ Ilya just frowned at that one before collecting it with the rest of the Post-its.
Ilya couldn’t help but keep every little note, tucking them tenderly inside his nightstand drawer. Right next to a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube, which Ilya thought was appropriate. Just another thing that would always remind him of Shane.
7. Learn her love language. Remember, women are emotional creatures.
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: website link
What is that?
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: would you take this quiz and let me know what you get?
Okay
Anything for you
What is it?
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: It’s a test to see what love language you have
What is a love language
I love you so much Shane
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: I’m not sure what it is
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Could you just take it anyway?
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: I love you too!
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: I would also love if you took the quiz
I got physical touch
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Oh
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Yeah that makes sense
Is that bad?
…
…
Shane?
…
Shane is it bad?
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: No, it just makes sense for you
Okay
I love you
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Mine was quality time
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Oh
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Yeah I love you too
I google quality time
I book a flight to come see you
Are you free this weekend?
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Oh no, that’s okay
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: I’m not free. I have a photoshoot
Okay
🙁
Will call you tonight?
Jane ❤️🍆🥵🥰: Yeah of course
❤️
8. Give meaningful gifts. That doesn’t just mean chocolate, boys!
Shane was trying to soften the blow. He was being kind now. That made it worse.
Ilya wished Shane would yell at him. He wished Shane would scream at him and point out all of Ilya’s flaws so that Ilya could fix them and beg him to take him back.
Instead, he got five different packages on his doorstep.
One was a framed picture of the two of them together, taken by Ilya at the cottage. Ilya had thought Shane had deleted it. Apparently not.
The second was a box of Mishka Kosolapy. Ilya didn’t even remember telling Shane that they were his favorite Russian candy, let alone know where Shane had found them.
The third was a box of Ilya’s preferred hockey tape. He had told Shane he was running low a week ago.
The fourth was a book on Russian hockey players. Shane had left a long review of it, with his own personal notes on the players mentioned.
The fifth was a pair of socks with the cutest little dogs Ilya had ever seen.
Fuck.
He loved him so much.
He didn’t want to lose him. Ilya wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Only Shane would soft-launch a breakup with the best gifts Ilya had ever received. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had gotten a gift that wasn’t from the team’s annual Christmas exchange.
The next day at practice, Ilya walked in to see a box of chocolates, carefully wrapped up and sitting on top of his locker.
Marly shot him a sympathetic look and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Roz—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ilya spat, shoving the box into his bag without looking.
9. Cook her dinner. She shouldn’t always be the one in the kitchen
This was it. Ilya knew it.
Shane had asked him what his favorite meal was. Ilya had told him that it was a ridiculously complicated lamb recipe, just to try to make it impossible for him to cook. Impossible for him to sit him down and tell him it was over.
Shane had made it anyway.
Ilya watched Shane hurry around his kitchen from his place in the dining room. Shane had guided him in and told him to just wait there until he was done. The table was even set nicely.
Ilya felt like he was on death row. Actually, he knew he was on death row. Shane was in the kitchen preparing his last meal.
He wondered if Shane would respond well to begging and screaming. He wondered whether he should get on his knees and start crying now, or save that for dessert. (Ilya had requested a soufflé. He had watched a couple of kids on Junior Chef struggle to make it and figured Shane would too. He should have known Shane would be amazing at that too, goddamn it.)
Ilya paled as Shane walked into the dining room, holding two perfect plates, and set one in front of him with a proud smile. Ilya watched as Shane sat next to him and started eating.
Shane took a bite. Did that bite mean it was over? Shane’s eyebrow twitched. Was he going to do it right now? He took a sip of wine. Shane never drank wine. Fuck, he was never going to be able to eat lamb after this, was he? He fucking loved lamb too.
Shane looked over at him and gave him a soft smile.
Ilya wanted to gouge out his eyes with his knife.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” Shane said, taking another bite of food.
“Yes. Very nice,” Ilya said slowly.
He watched Shane hum and continue eating.
He couldn’t take this any longer. The waiting was torture. Come on, Shane, just say it! Just do it! Get it over with! Just—
“Are you breaking up with me?” Ilya asked.
Shane’s fork clattered loudly against his plate as he dropped it. He looked over at Ilya with wide eyes.
“No! Why would you say that?” he said with a panicked expression.
Ilya blinked.
Did he…did he do it? Had he stopped the breakup?
He was startled to see Shane put his head in his hands.
“Oh my God, you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Shane said, peering at Ilya between his fingers.
Ilya’s mouth dropped open in shock. Was Ilya breaking up with Shane? It was the most absurd thing Ilya could think of.
Shane suddenly stood up, his chair falling to the ground.
“Oh my God, you are! I knew I was going to fuck it up. Fuck. FUCK,” Shane yelled.
Ilya gawked as Shane started pacing back and forth.
“Shane—” Ilya started, but Shane didn’t stop moving.
“I knew I fucked up step two. Your fucking jersey? What the fuck was I thinking? You all wear the same fucking jerseys! And obviously, the surprise went fucking terribly. I should have known then. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Ilya. I really tried. I can try again just—”
“Whoa, whoa. Shane. Shane!”
Ilya stood up and put his body in front of Shane’s robotic walking, grabbing him by the arms and trying to hold him still.
“Shane.”
“I’m so sorry, Ilya. I’m terrible at this. Just give me a couple of hours, and I can do more googling—”
“Shane. Breathe,” Ilya said, giving Shane a pointed look. He took a breath in himself so Shane could remember how to do it.
They stood there for a moment.
“Shane,” Ilya began quietly. “What are you talking about? What do you mean ‘step’?”
Shane sighed and covered his face.
“I have no idea how to be a good boyfriend, Ilya,” he said through his hands. “I took all of these notes on how to do it, but the steps don’t seem to be working.”
Ilya looked at him.
Slowly, he reached up and pressed Shane’s fingers apart so that he could see his eyes through his covered face.
“I do not understand Shane. What do you mean steps?” he said.
Slowly, Shane dropped his arms and slumped back into his kitchen. When he came back, Shane was carrying a notebook that he flipped open and handed Ilya.
Ilya read the top of it.
‘Ten Easy Steps to Being a Good Boyfriend.’
He read it again.
And again.
He scanned the list.
He looked up at Shane, who was fidgeting back and forth, biting one of his nails off.
Ilya burst out laughing.
Tears were streaming down his face. Ilya wasn’t sure the last time he had laughed this hard. He leaned forward, trying to find Shane, to use him as support, but missed and fell to his knees instead. He had always known he’d end up in this position tonight. He just hadn’t quite gotten the path to it right.
The laughter dissolved into nonstop giggles. Shane crouched down next to him, and Ilya saw a smile start to spread on Shane’s face too.
“What’s so—” Shane giggled. “—What’s so funny? I know the list is stupid but—”
“Shane,” Ilya gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I thought you were going to break up with me. You were acting so weird, and all of my teammates said you were going to end it.”
Shane blinked at him. “And you believed them?”
Ilya shrugged. “It sounded convincing at the time.”
Shane frowned. “What did you think all of the gifts were? The notes? The plane tickets? Did you think those were breakup purchases?”
Ilya clicked his tongue and opened his mouth to speak, but froze. Well, when he put it like that…
Shane smiled brightly at him and put his hands on both of his shoulders. He furrowed his brow in exaggerated seriousness.
“Ilya,” Shane said flatly.
“Shane,” he responded in kind.
“I’m not breaking up with you.”
“Okay.”
“I love you very much.”
“Okay.”
“And you love me too?”
“So much, Shane. I love you so much.”
“Good. Next time, let’s not trust the hockey players that can’t tell their left skate from their right.”
“Hey, those hockey players won a cup.”
“Meh. You guys just basically stumbled upon it, bunch of oafs.”
Ilya laughed, and Shane joined him this time.
Glancing at the notebook on the ground beside them, Ilya leaned over and picked it up again, scanning the list. It made a lot more sense now.
“Where did you get this? Some weird girl blog?”
Shane flushed bright red. Ilya had a sneaky suspicion that’s exactly where Shane got it from.
Ilya looked back at the list.
“So when is number ten?”
10. Plan a romantic date. Just because they’ve agreed to date you doesn’t mean you’re off the hook
Ilya strutted into the locker room after the game and smiled upon seeing a bouquet of flowers resting in his stall. He picked them up and took in the strong scent. It was too bad he was going to have to throw them away before walking into Shane’s apartment. They were very pretty. He wondered if there were scentless flowers.
“Damn, Cap, what did she do this time?” Marly asked, walking up to him.
Ilya gave him a pointed look. “Marly. You are an idiot. I do not tell you enough.”
“What the fuck—”
“Roz, what are the flowers for?” Connors interrupted, joining Ilya on his right.
Ilya set the flowers down carefully.
“I have a date,” he said simply as his teammates gawked at him.
“And…and she got you flowers?” St. Simone asked slowly.
“Mm, yes,” he said, turning to the group. “Is important to remember that just because I agree to date her does not mean she is off the hook for planning dates.”
Marleau let out a long whistle. “Damn man. That was fucking wise,” Marly said, stripping off his gear.
“Dude, you should write a blog or something,” Hammersmith added.
Ilya smiled.
Maybe he would.