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Ilya had never been one to be afraid of storms. There was something about the presence of a force so large that begged to remind him that their human problems were minuscule compared to the nature that had the power to wreak havoc in a single moment.
He liked the sound of rain. He liked the sound of most things that quieted his mind. Nature's white noise- why wouldn't he like it? But as the rain grew harder and slammed itself sideways into the window, he could see why some people hated it.
It was claustrophobic.
When the first alarms went off, Ilya’s immediate thoughts were that they were being bombed. It sounded like the fucking sirens he would see in a WW11 drama as the camera panned over an English city being decimated.
It wasn’t until he heard the other people in the lobby murmuring about tornadoes that he put together what was really happening. He had been sent with his Alternate, Marley, this year, but last Ilya knew, Cliff was taking advantage of the second-floor bar. He searched the crowd for his friend, but his eyes fell on the man who occupied his thoughts more than Marley.
Hollander.
They locked eyes from across the room, and suddenly Ilya had the overwhelming longing to be next to him. He couldn't even call him by his first name, their entire dynamic an enigma he hadn't begun to figure out, but even just meeting his gaze settled something deep within his chest.
Plus Hollander had almost definitely memorized the disaster plan and layout for the building. If Ilya thought about it, he might be able to pull up the shape of the map that was plastered to each hotel room, but they all looked the same if he was being honest. Did that poster even have anything for storm safety and shelter protocols, or is it just for fire? He didn't know; they were in goddamn Michigan or Missouri or some tornado State that had no business hosting All-Stars.
The overhead alarm continued to blare, and Ilya found himself pushed along with a crowd towards an enclosed hall. He supposed that made sense. He didn’t know much about tornadoes but couldn’t imagine anyone would want to be next to a window.
The chaos of it all seemed to ebb, and Ilya thought it was over until the walls next to him started to shake and his world crumbled around him.
…
Shane shared a moment with Rozanov, communication passing through their eyes before the crowds split and he was taken along with the flow.
It wasn't even supposed to rain today, much less storm. Shane could hardly think above the sound of the tornado warning repeating itself, reminding the hotel occupants that danger still lay ahead. He was just grateful that his parents had double-booked by accident and were spending the week in Ontario with some extended family instead of watching him perform live.
…
The world came to in stages of black and grey, hard concrete mixing with the reality of disaster. Fuck. His head was killing him, but he was more distressed about the fact that his legs were pinned along with another person; the hallway that had been crowded with patrons had been torn to shreds. Did the tornado actually touch down?
The person next to him moved, accidentally causing a slab of drywall still connected to its pinewood framing to collide with an already sore area of his stomach.
Fuck. He needed to stand up and start helping people; players had their wives and kids here, goddammit! He needed to move. He tried to dig himself out from the rubble, but struggled to get a good footing. His eyes blurred from pain, or tears, or who the hell knew what- but it was hard to see a foot in front of him, much less who in the area needed help most.
Distantly, he could make out the sound of people shouting, his brain too preoccupied to translate the rushed English. Was Hollander okay? Was Cliff? Ilya didn’t want anyone to have been hurt, but having it be someone he knew, someone he cared for…he was getting ahead of himself. Step one was to get the fuck up. He could assess from there. Ilya finally unpinned himself long enough to leverage himself against what used to be the wall, but didn’t stay upright for long.
The blood rushed to his head, and Ilya knew the symptoms of fainting before he fully registered what was happening.
Fuck.
…
One of the most terrifying sounds that Shane had ever heard was the roar of the storm tearing up the center, just feet from him. When it settled a minute later, the most terrifying sound he ever heard echoed across the shambles of the building. Screams.
Shane rushed towards the sound, desperate to help in any way he could. Destruction lay in his path as he stepped over the rubble from the worst of the impact, navigating his way towards the people calling for help.
There were already people digging each other out of the mess, and Shane quickly jumped into action, supporting a young woman by the elbow as she struggled to her feet. Despite the horror of it all, for the most part it seemed like everyone was okay. The people being unburied were hurt, but alive. Shane didn’t want to think about whether there were any corpses yet to discover. If there was a certain 6-foot Russian menace in particular.
Movement across the way caught his eye as he latched onto a set of dirty blonde curls. Rozanov. He was pulling himself up, and Shane was relieved to see that he looked to be in one piece. Then he started to waver, and Shane could tell he was going down. Shit.
Before he knew what was happening, he was next to the other man, catching him as his legs gave out, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“Ilya? Ilya!” Shane couldn’t control the panic that laced his voice as he supported the dead weight of his rival. Shit. Fuck. He needed an ambulance.
A man had materialized at his side and grabbed Rozanov’s legs, helping Shane brace him in the air.
“Medics are starting triage around the corner; your friend needs help.” His voice was serious, his eyes a piercing blue, and maybe if Shane could think, he would be able to place what team the player was from.
He accepted the help without hesitation, desperate to get Ilya to someone who knew something and could do more than just look at him and think, fuck that’s not good.
The triage team took Ilya from him, saying things into their radio faster than Shane could understand. They had a gauze wrapped around his head, and Shane’s stomach twisted as Ilya almost immediately bled through the bandages. Logically, he knew that head wounds bled a lot. Logic wasn’t helping the terror at seeing him looking…dead.
“Sir, we need you to take a step back so we can help more people.”
Shane nodded numbly, following the player from earlier who helped him back to the hall. Other people needed help, surely, but he couldn’t keep his mind off of the one person he couldn’t do anything more for.
…
When Ilya woke up in the hospital to see Shane fucking Hollander next to his bedside, he thought for a moment that he had died. Or hit his head hard enough that he was hallucinating.
The other man seemed to sense his alertness and turned to him, their eyes meeting, once again carrying a world of non-verbal communication. Ilya found that looks weren’t enough anymore.
“You are okay?” he asked, studying Shane’s face for a response.
The other man didn’t even try to suppress his eye roll.
“You’re the one in the hospital bed, Rozanov. Are you okay?”
Ilya looked down at himself; all of his limbs were still attached. Whatever pain meds they had him on made everything fuzzy; if he was hurt, he couldn’t feel it.
“I think so, yes. Probably.” He paused a moment before asking what he really wanted to know. “How are you here?”
“What? Oh. You mean like in your room?” Shane let out an awkward laugh. “The media may or may not have gotten pictures of me…helping you. He flipped open his phone to show the Russian some of the headlines that were trending.
HOLLANDER / ROZANOV RIVALRY- OVER?
FRIEND OR FOE? SEE HOW HOLLANDER REALLY FEELS ABOUT ROZANOV
ILYA ROZANOV SEEN SPOTTED IN SHANE HOLLANDER’S ARMS
HERO HOLLANDER RESCUES RIVAL
He stopped scrolling and found Shane’s face, his eyebrow raised.
“They are acting like you being normal, decent person is you saying you’re my best friend.”
Shane shrugged in response, a slight blush on his face. “I mean…maybe this is an opportunity to get past the whole ‘rivalry’ thing. You know? I could have my mom help us with a narrative… trauma-bonded or whatever. Maybe let people see we are friends. Maybe let us see more of each other than twice a year.”
Ilya didn’t know Shane’s face could get so red. Was he nervous?
“Shane Hollander. Are you asking me out on a date?”
“What? No! I don’t know. Maybe?” Oh, he was definitely nervous. “Would you want that? To be…friends in public?”
Ilya’s heart melted. How could he say that it was all he wanted? To be able to have his number saved in his phone with his real name, to go out for drinks as colleagues without the world having a meltdown. To maybe explore what they had for real, without having to hide the fact they didn’t hate each other.
“I think, yes.” He smiled playfully. “Who would I be to refuse Hero Hollander?”