Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Pre-game Routine:

A sequence of task-relevant thoughts and actions which an athlete engages in systematically prior to their performance on the ice. These help to reduce distractions, minimize anxiety and allow athletes to slowly narrow their focus to what is about to come.

JUNE 14th 2015

“No. Absolutely not. There’s no way.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you have a choice here.”

“Of course I do! And I won’t do it!” Please please please don’t force me to do this.

Shane glares at his mother at the other side of the desk in her office with what he’s sure is wide and absolutely terrified eyes. His arms are crossed, as if he's trying to shield himself from the gaze he’s gotten so used to over the years: his mother’s eyes that says This is a really good opportunity honey! Stop being difficult about it!

And Shane has learned to obey that face in most cases, it’s often easier to fake a smile and then do the damn photoshoot or perfume ad or interview than trying to win an argument against Yuna Hollander.

But not this.

Shane will not do this. No way.

This he will absolutely be difficult about.

“It’s not something you can say no to, Shane. The whole team is doing it, and as their captain, you need to be there.”

“I don’t care, find a way to get me out of this!” Shane says, closing his eyes. He doesn’t pray, is not religious by any means, but in this moment he can’t help himself. Please dear god. I know I don’t talk to you ever, or even know if I think you exist, so maybe this is too much to ask, but if you are real then please get me out of this.

He can’t have been a bad enough person to deserve this. Right?

His mother sighs and he looks at her again. Her face has shifted to a more understanding expression, but when she speaks again, her words are still firm; “I know you don’t like this, and I’m sorry. But it’s out of my hands. I’ll send the details to your email.”

He’s heard those words countless times before. I’ll send the details to your email. That is Yuna-talk for This discussion is over. And Shane knows better than to fight that. He stares at his mother for a few seconds, blinks, and then nods once.

He knows when something’s a lost battle.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do amazing honey, really.” Shane highly doubts that.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime sweetheart,” Yuna says, but she sounds as though she’s already in her next thought, leaving this conversation behind. She drops down on the chair behind her computer again and Shane knows he’s dismissed. As he turns around to leave the office his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he knows the email is from her.

The devil works fast but Yuna Hollander sure works faster.

“Thank you,” Shane says again half-heartedly before opening the door to the office and gently closes it behind him. He gets no response.

Shane pulls his phone up and navigates his way to the email.

Shane stops in the corridor to close his eyes and lean his back against the wall. He dunks his head gently backwards.

Actually fuck his life.

All he wanted to do was to play hockey, and now he’s forced to sing? He wishes suddenly that he’d said no when his father first put him on a pair of skates. If two year old Shane had looked at his dad with teary eyes and shook his head, surely his parents wouldn’t have forced him to continue?

Sure, then he wouldn’t know how it feels to hold the Stanely Cup over his head, but at the same time he wouldn’t be forced to be in a fucking rapp song, so maybe that would’ve been for the best.

“It’s just one day,” he mutters to himself. “Just one stupid day. No one will probably even see it.”

He knows he’s lying to himself. Objectively, Shane can see that this is a good idea. Getting a popular artist to sing with them is very good exposure, and there’s no doubt he’ll hear the song every fucking game he’ll ever play from now on. And his mother had been clear in their discussion, as had Tamara in her email: there’s no way he’s getting out of it.

“Just stay in the background. It’ll be fine.” Please let this be fine.

Shane takes one breath and pulls himself together. He opens his eyes and continues down the corridor to his parents kitchen where his dad is by the stove, stirring something in a pan.

“How did the meeting go?” his dad asks without turning around. Whatever he’s cooking smells good.

“The meeting went like it always does.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse, having one's mom as one's manager. A blessing because nobody knows Shane better than her. Yuna always looks out for what is best for him, and she’s terrifyingly good at getting what she wants. She understands Shane, knows that some things he just can’t do, though that doesn’t stop her from trying sometimes. But it’s also a curse because it turns every normal conversation he has with her into some sort of brand discussion. She’s constantly throwing new opportunities and deals and ideas onto him even when Shane just wants to lay back and not think about anything.

So, the compromise became these meetings. Once every other week Shane and Yuna discuss what’s new, and Yuna shares his calendar for the month. Shane, more often than not, sits there with gritted teeth, reminding himself that this hour of momangering is better than having it thrown at him at all times and from all angles.

“I mean,” Shane corrects himself, hearing how mean his words may have sounded. “It’s great that she-”

“It’s okay, Shane,” David says and finally turns around to look at him with his crooked, awkward but warm, smile. “I know better than anyone how she can be.”

Of course he does. It’s impossible to be in the same room as Yuna Hollander for more than five minutes and not know what she can be like, not even to mention being married to her.

“Food’s ready in fifteen.”

“Thanks dad.” With the dining table already set, there’s really nothing else to do for him but exit the kitchen and take a seat on the living room couch.

His phone buzzes again and Shane takes it out. It’s, as expected, the Metro's team chat going wild.

Shane steels himself for a moment before putting on his captain's face. He and management needs to have a united front regarding this, it’s his job as team captain to encourage his players, no matter what he himself thinks about the situation. It’s what a good captain does, thinking about the team before yourself. There’s no I in team or whatever the bullshit saying is.

With a sigh Shane exits the chat and instead goes into another.

His mom peaks her head into the living room. “Shane, dinner’s ready!”

“Coming, let me just finish a conversation.”

“Of course.”

Fuck absolutely everything.

He’s actually being forced to do this. He has to go to a recording studio and sing in front of his whole team. Maybe he can convince the producers to allow him to do it by himself? No, that would be even more awkward, just him singing in front of producers used to working with real artists.

Shane locks his phone and puts it back in his pocket. As he moves towards the kitchen he tries to lock studios and singing and Russian artists as far back in his mind as he can. No point in worrying about it now. There’s still a couple of weeks until he’s got to drive back to Montreal and sing. Right now, he can focus on being just Shane, not hockey captain or Stanley-cup winner Shane Hollander. After dinner he’ll drive back to his own cottage, read a bit from his book and go to bed, just how he likes it.

He ignores the little twitch of loneliness that thought gives him.

“So, who were you texting?” Yuna asks before taking a sip of wine. It's probably meant to make the question seem more innocent and less sneaky, but Shane had grown up with her all his life. He knows better. “You were smiling at your phone.”

“Just Rose.”

“Oh, Rose!” Yuna exclaims with the same voice she always uses when the topic of Rose comes up, which is more often than Shane would prefer.

“She's such a nice girl, isn't she David?” From the corner of his eyes Shane can see Yuna give his dad a stern and pointed look.

“Yes, of course.” David sounds just about as enthusiastic as Shane feels, which is absolutely not one bit. This is not the first time Yuna had tried to play sneaky match maker.

“Yes!” she says more forcefully, clearly not pleased with the lack of support from her husband. “You should invite her back here sometime! It was so much fun when she was here that week last summer.”

It really had been. She had had a couple of weeks between movies and had joined Shane in the cottage for one of them. Just a week of playing games and swimming and gossiping. All the while having to duck his mother's not so discreet attempts at trying to set them up.

But this year Rose is filming all summer. And Shane is honestly exhausted from having to make up excuses to his mom.

“She's busy.”

“All summer? Really?” Yuna sounds like she doesn’t believe it for even a second. “Such a shame.”

“Yeah.”

“Well maybe then you could-”

“Mom please! I don't know how many times I have to tell you that Rose is just a friend!” Shane never really raises his voice outside of the ice, and the volume of it makes him want to apologize, but instead he just stares at his mom.

“But don't you think that-”

“Yuna.” David places a hand on her knee. “I think Shane has made it quite clear.”

A wave of appreciation flows towards his dad.

“I just don't want you to be lonely.” It’s something else, to be the sole focus of attention of Yuna Hollander. Those dark eyes convey so much emotion, always. And right now it’s an emotion Shane has gotten very used to see in them as the year has gone by.

It’s pity. Some hint of worry, sure, but mostly it’s pity for her son who’s apparently so alone that he needs his mothers help to set him up with people.

Shane has to look away. He hates that look. “I'm not, I'm doing great. Hayden and Jackie and the kids are coming over for a while.”

“It's not the same though…”

“Mom.” Shane says at the same time as his fathers stern voice says: “Yuna.”

She throws her hands up in surrender. She blinks and the pity is gone, replaced by slight annoyance. It’s not ideal, but it’s certainly better. “Okay I get it. I’ll back off. But can you tell her hi from me at least?”

“Yeah, sure.” Maybe he will. Rose had really liked Yuna.

And Shane likes Rose, she’s quite impossible not to like.

They had just clicked right away, and she quickly moved herself up to become one of Shane's best friends. She had seemed interested in him when they first met at that party, but Shane had been quick to turn down her advances. He's a hockey player. He doesn't need more. Nevermind that all his attempts at having a girlfriend have failed miserably.

He travels a lot, has a hard time reading social signals in relationships and, quite embarrassingly for himself, he’s not really that good at sex. Just doesn’t seem to enjoy it really. And Rose had seemed too kind for him to expose her to any of that.

No. This is better.

Just friends.

No distractions, just hockey.

Shane keeps eating his salmon, barely saying another word all dinner, as he avoids looking at his mom.

JULY 8th 2015

As soon as Shane unlocks his phone at his breakfast table on the eighth of July it blows up with notifications, most of them from the team group-chat.

Shane mutes the chat. He really likes his team mates, but they can be a lot sometimes. And Shane is nervous enough as it is without also having to stress about what he should be wearing.

He looks down at himself, the breakfast smoothie on the table totally forgotten. Shane’s wearing what he normally wears, some more fancy Adidas athletic pants and a white t-shirt. Maybe it’s not enough? He’d tried to make this as small of a deal as possible, but what if JJ is right? What if a suit is the correct move here?

Suddenly he feels ridiculous in his trackpants. Fuck, not good enough at all. Shane glances at the clock on his wall. Ten minutes until he has to leave. Surely he can find a good outfit in ten minutes. Looking around his walk-in-closet Shane’s eyes fall on his game-day-suit that hangs in the corner.

That’s dumb.

Or?

Is it what he’s supposed to wear?

Fuck, why wasn’t this specified in the email?

Another moment of hesitation. The other guys had said normal clothes. No suits. His white t-shirt’s probably fine. He just needs to find some other pants. Does he own any jeans that fit him without being too itchy?

He finds one pair deeply tucked in a drawer, but as soon as he pulls them on he knows he can’t do it. They’re too itchy and uncomfortable. And Shane can’t be forced to sing AND wear uncomfortable pants at the same time.

Enough is enough.

With two minutes to spare before the car the NHL has hired arrives, Shane puts his legs through some black pants. They’re not really suit pants, but squinting they might be mistaken for some.

They’ll have to do.

At least they feel fine on his skin.

In the car he pulls up his conversation with Hayden.

Hayden reacts with a thumbs up before a message full of just animal emojis comes through, suggesting that Ruby got ahold of her fathers phone, effectively ending the conversation. Shane’s leg bounces as he bites the nail on his thumb.

It’s weird that he’s more nervous doing this than before the cup finale. Maybe because hockey is something he knows. He’s played countless hours, watched countless hours of tape. He knows it better than he knows breathing probably.

Being forced to sing in a room full of people, being recorded singing, is something new. Something Shane has no control over.

You’ll be fine.

And he will be.

Probably.

The car stops outside a large multi-story building, glass windows from floor to roof. It looks expensive and classy in a way that makes Shane slightly uncomfortable.

It’s in these types of buildings he’s forced to become another version of himself, play someone he’s not. He has to become Captain Hollander, the nice and slightly dull and polite hockey player who has the weight of the Metros on his shoulders and the eyes of the world on him. The role model, someone that people feel comfortable telling their kids to look up too.

Shane takes a deep breath before he opens the car door, thanks the driver and steps outside. It’s a hot day, the air in Montreal standing absolutely still. These pants are not made of a breathable material, he realizes.

It’s a relief to step in through the two giant glass double doors into a lobby, the AC unit really doing it’s job of keeping the place cold. Maybe these pants are alright actually.

“Shane!” He looks around trying to find the source of his name, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them in the collar of his t-shirt.

“Tamara, hi,” he says as a short, black woman with a bun and a blazer walks towards him. She’s pretty, he supposes, kind eyes and an understanding smile. She's around his same age and with an air of competence just radiating from her.

When she’d joined the Metro staff a year prior Shane had been slightly frightened by her. Tamara is never afraid to say what she thinks, and just one stern look from her is enough to quiet down an entire locker room filled with rowdy hockey boys. At the same time, she’s gentle. She seems to understand Shane, knows when to push and when to back off in a way that makes him both incredibly relieved and slightly nervous about what it really is she sees in him.

They’re not friends, more like co-worker friends maybe, but she was the first person outside his team and his coach that Shane hugged after lifting the cup over his head just a few weeks ago. And he isn’t really the hugging kind.

Of course Tamara knows that and stops in front of him, making no attempt to reach out.

“Good to see you, I can see the sun and relaxation has done you some good.”

“Yeah, it’s great. I really needed this break I suppose.” And it has been good, just being alone in his cottage. But he also feels sort of empty. All spring he had one goal and once he’d reached it, it was like everything sort of lost its meaning.

“Lucky you,” Tamara sighs. “No summer vacation for me yet, I’m afraid. Turns out working PR for a team that just won the cup is a bit of a task.”

“I can imagine. Sorry about that.”

Tamara smiles at him. “You’re not.”

Shane smiles back. “No I’m really not.”

“Me neither. Okay, so, you’re just as punctual as usual, which means that you’re five minutes early. No one else is here yet.”

“They never are.” It’s his job as captain, after all, to always be on time. To lead by good example.

“We’re going to start off in that room there,” she says, pointing towards a slightly ajar door with a big 8 written on it. “And then move to the real studio.”

“Sounds good.” Sounds awful actually.

“Yeah, so just take a seat in there and I’ll send the boys in once they arrive.”

“Thanks. You’re really good at your job.” Shane really means it, but Tamara dismisses him with a pssshh sound and wave of her hand.

Room number 8 is, as Tamara had told him it would be, empty. It’s just as cold as the lobby had been, something Shane really appreciates.

It’s a large conference room with a big oval table of light wood in the middle and comfortable looking black chairs around it. On one of the walls there’s a large black screen and the others are filled with photos in frames. They depict what Shane can only imagine are singers, shaking hands with important looking people or singing on stages. A quick look around reveals to Shane that he’s not going to know of any of these people. Maybe Rose had been slightly right about him and pop-culture.

Instead he takes a seat at the middle of the table and takes out his phone. His morning text to Rose had gone unanswered, unsurprising seen to her message last night complaining about having to shoot something in a pool all day today. But he still wishes she’d be available to distract him now, his heart racing and hands starting to feel clammy.

He doesn’t know if he can do this.

Is it too late to just give the cup back? Give it to Buffalo instead. They had, after all, only been two victories behind them in the finals. They deserve it almost as much as the Metros does. Then they would be the ones forced to sing this stupid song.

The door opens again and JJ walks in. He looks, in search for a better word, stressed out of his mind. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, that’s unbuttoned further down than is probably appropriate for any situation outside the beach or a nightclub after 2 am, and a pair of light jeans that are ripped over his thighs and knees. A cap balances on his head with the word hockey on it.

Shane has never seen him in any article of this outfit before, and has to hide his laugh in a small cough. JJ looks like he’s about to cry at any moment, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He doesn’t need more stress by having Shane laugh him in his face.

But before Shane’s even has the time to do more than stare at JJ for a second, Theo bursts through the door as well. He stops short when his gaze falls on JJ.

“Man,” he says. “What the actual fuck are you wearing.”

“What?” JJ says, and Shane thinks he’s probably never heard a man make a noise that high pitched before, at least not a man having gone through puberty. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look insane, you know that right?” Theo says, grinning wide.

“No I don’t!”

“You’re wearing ripped jeans.”

“Cause they’re cool!” JJ almost whines.

“JJ. Your hat just says hockey on it.”

“Cause I play hockey! Shane, tell Theo I don’t look ridiculous."

Shane feels two pairs of eyes land on him and feels himself unconsciously straightening his back. He would really like to stay outside of this conversation.

“You look… Interesting, JJ.” He cringes at himself as soon as the word leaves his mouth. That’s certainly not the right thing to say and he knows it. It's just, he has a really hard time lying in situations, despite knowing that he probably should.

Theo bursts out a laugh and JJ looks absolutely horrified.

“Merde!” he shouts, looking between them with wild eyes. “Really? You're not just messing with me? Should I lose the hat or…”

“You should probably start by buttoning your shirt,” Shane says, trying to be helpful. It just makes Theo laugh more.

“Yeah,” Theo says. “I’m surprised Tamara let you in looking like that.”

JJ murmurs something at the floor as he with shaky fingers tries to fit the buttons though the holes.

“What was that?” Theo asks.

“I said that I snuck into the bathroom to unbutton the shirt and put on the hat. Thought Tamara wouldn’t approve.”

Shane feels a little pang of sympathy for his friend. JJ’s a nice guy, funny without ever really meaning to be. He’s just nervous, and Shane knows a thing or two about being nervous about fitting in, and then failing.

While JJ gets himself dressed appropriately, and the hat goes in the trashcan in the corner, more and more people start to file into the room. Shane nods a hello to them all, but doesn’t really say anything until Hayden arrives, holding Ruby in one hand. He’s gripping her tightly, as Ruby seems to want to run and explore exactly every part of this massive building.

Ruby has always been a curious child, wanting to see and do everything. More than once she’s almost given Hayden a heart attack climbing trees or jumping from rocks or disappearing at festivals because she just wanted to look at the fun balloons, dad! Shane’s not at all surprised that it’s Ruby being here and not Jade, her more cautious twin, even though they’re usually combined at the hip.

Ruby shrieks out a delighted scream when she sees Shane and pulls Hayden along with her to say hello.

“Hi uncle Shane!” she screams.

“Inside voice Ruby.” Hayden sighs tiredly and Shane gets the impression that this is not the first time he’s had to say those words to her in the last few minutes.

“Sorry.” But Ruby doesn’t look sorry. Her face is absolutely beaming.

“Hello Ruby,” Shane says, shaking her hand in a way that never fails to make her laugh. “What a surprise seeing you here.”

“You knew I would be here, my dad sent you a message in the car.”

“You can read well enough to understand that now?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I saw your name and my name and Ro$anov’s name. It wasn’t hard to put two together.”

“You really are a little detective, aren’t you?”

“The best! Jade and I are starting a detecive agency in our treehouse.” Shane looks up at Hayden who just gives him a don’t even ask look.

“Sounds great.” Ruby nods as she climbs onto Hayden’s lap in the chair next to Shane’s.

“Okay, listen up!” Tamara walks through the doors and the chatter that had been rising in volume the last few minutes starts to die down. Everyone takes a seat at the table, watching Tamara as she and another woman walks towards the screen.

The woman is objectively absolutely stunning, that much Shane sees. She has big, poofy hair and high heels that makes Tamara look even shorter than she usually does. Her eyes are big and dark, with green eyeshadow and a dress that matches. In her ears hang big, expensive looking earrings.

In the seat opposite Shane at the table he sees Alfred’s mouth hang open as he follows her with his gaze.

“I’m glad all of you could pause your vacations and come here for this recording,” Tamara says. It’s not like you gave us much choice.

The two women stop at the short side of the table, looking at all the players at the table. The unknown women’s eyes are piercing, looking at all of them one at a time, seemingly really taking them in. It feels like she’s evaluating them. Or maybe reading their deepest darkest secrets right there on their faces. Or maybe she's prophesying how each one of them are going to die.

Her gaze stops just a beat longer on Shane’s face than any others. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair before the woman moves on to Hayden and Ruby beside him.

“This is Svetlana Vetrova, Ro$anov’s manager," Tamara says, gesturing to the women next to her.

“Hi all, it’s very nice to meet you.” Her, Svetlana's, apparently, voice is deep and slightly accented, but just little enough that it’s hard to pinpoint what it is. Alfred’s mouth is still not closed.

“We’re very happy to do this collaboration with you, we were all really impressed with your performance in the play-off’s.” Her gaze finds Shane’s again. “It’s such an honor to have the biggest stars of hockey here with us today.”

“And we’re all very happy to be here too, right guys?” Tamara says and gets a mumble of agreement from everyone around the table.

“Okay so, before Svetlana talks us through what’s going to happen today I just want to say that I expect every one of you to be on your best behavior. We’re guests here today so I don’t want to see anything break or have anyone wandering around where we’re not supposed to be, okay? Behave!” It sounds like she’s talking to toddlers rather than a room full of grown men. Unfortunately, Shane knows that she has all the reasons for it.

Svetlana smiles a little at that, and it’s very hard to see if it’s an amused smile or a condescending one. Either way, Shane decides that he doesn’t like her. It's hard to say what it is, but Svetlana just has an air around her that makes Shane feel like he's done something wrong.

“Okay, then I leave the floor to you Svetlana,” Tamara says before she steps back and sits down. Svetlana nods gratefully at her and presses a button on a computer making the screen behind her come alive.

“Thank you for that. Now, who here has any experience singing?”

The players all blink confused at each other, slightly scared to admit to anything. After a few tense seconds three guys put their hands up.

“Okay then this is a new thing for most of you. Don’t worry, we are all professionals here,” Svetlana says. Shane would really appreciate it if she could look at someone other than him when punctuating the words like this. What does she mean? Does she not think Shane is a professional?

“You will feature in the chorus of the song as a group, I’m not looking for any solo performances.” Shane feels himself relax. “I will play you the track now, and on the screen are the words. Do begin to try and memorize them.”

Another click on the computer and music starts to play from speakers Shane hadn’t even noticed before. It must be some sort of all-surround sound, because the quick beat is echoing from everywhere. Lyrics pop up on the screen just as a hard and accented, but surprisingly smooth voice, starts to sing them.

     Let’s go Metros
     You snooze, you lose
     Good thing we woke up early
     Victory on the rocks
     Makes us rock the ice honey
     Close the bar down
     with the last shot
     made it count
     Let’s go Metros

Shane stares at the lyrics and the relief he felt when Svetlana had said no solo performances has completely evaporated, instead being replaced with ice cold dread. He should’ve figured it out, he realizes. He heard Ro$anov being called a rapper, of course the song he’s being forced to sing would be a rap.

But fuck, it feels even worse than singing. Shane has absolutely zero of the attributes of someone who raps. He goes to bed early, has never snorted coke in a bathroom, or any other room for that matter. Hell, he doesn’t even own a cap!

I really can’t do this.

For a few seconds he lets himself fantasize about faking a sudden illness. Maybe he could faint, or sprint out to throw up in the bathroom. In all the years he’s been with the Metros he’s never really done anything wrong. He’s barely missed a practice, let alone a game. He’s almost always on time and is always the one who makes sure there’s water in all his teammates' rooms when they come back to the hotel after a victory.

Shane is a good person. Surely they would understand if he were to miss this one small thing. Right?

Then the words from Tamara’s email flash before him: It is obligatory for everyone to participate. He's the team captain. He just can’t sneak out.

Fighting hard not to bang his head on the table Shane looks around at his team mates, all staring intently on the screen, or in Alfred’s case, at Svetlana. Some look nervous, but honestly, most of them look excited.

Shane tries to hear Rose’s voice in his head. Live a little! It’ll be fun! Okay. Yes. He’ll make this fun. He’ll force himself to have fun, or at the very least, he will not have a panic attack in the recording studio.

“Ro$anov had a very fun time writing the lyrics and the song, so I hope you like it,” Svetlana says. “We’ll listen to it a few more times. We’ll have the lyrics up in the studio as well, but try to get a feel for the rhythm. Maybe even sing along.”

No thank you Svetlana.

The song doesn’t really get better at the second listening, nor the third. By the fourth Shane has given up on ever liking it, just accepting that a song that he kind of hates will contain his voice and haunt him for the rest of his career.

They’re on the fifth listen when the door to the conference room suddenly opens and everyone’s heads turn automatically towards it.

Shane’s heart stops beating for a few seconds before it picks up again at his triple normal resting pace.

The first thing Shane’s eyes catch on are locks, golden and soft and messy in a way that looks effortless despite probably being styled with a lot of effort. The next is the monochrome jeans outfit, all in light beige. On a normal person it would probably look ridiculous, but the person stepping into the room is not a normal person. It’s a god. A god with piercing blue eyes and a mole on his left cheek.

It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful person Shane Hollander has ever seen.

“Ah,” comes Svetlana’s voice and it sounds like it’s floating into his brain from another, faraway dimension, as Shane’s sole focus is on the man in front of him. “How nice that you could join us, Ro$anov.”