So he really should have expected the question, "so who is, you know, the man?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dude, you can't ask that," a very progressive Young advised. "You gotta ask who's the top. Not the man."

Shane exhaled slowly. He loves his team he loves his team he loves his team.

"That is private," Shane said firmly. "And inappropriate in the workplace."

He was, of course, largely ignored. And while neither him nor Ilya really enjoyed their team, their friends, the internet, and homophobic players guessing their bedroom arraignments, Shane was surprised that nearly everyone got it wrong.

The general consensus what that Shane was the man. His going out outfit was usually jeans and a t-shirt, Ilya's was tight leather pants and a leopard print with four buttons undone. When they drank, Shane got a beer and Ilya either got shots or the sweetest cocktail they had. Ilya was more flamboyant, Shane was more reserved. Ilya liked to bake, Shane liked to grill.

And yes, Shane was aware why all these seemingly innocuous personality traits accumulated to make Shane the man and Ilya the girl. Still, it didn't stop it being generally annoying, offensive, and uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Shane liked finding the silver lining in that this was something just for them to know.

Ilya finds it more amusing then Shane. And, like most things, tries to use it to his advantage.

"Shaaaane, carry my bag," Ilya held out his hockey bag.

"No."

"I can't believe you treat your girlfriend like this."

~*~

"Is it a happy bouquet or an 'i'm sorry' one?" Holmsberg asked as he and the rookies peered over Young's phone. "Get the all roses one."

"That's the most expensive one!"

"Dude."

"Shane," Ilya whined, calling their attention to him. "Why don't you ever buy me flowers?"

"That's messed up, dude," LaPointe shook his head.

"I'll buy you roses, Roz." Wyatt grinned.

"You will not," Shane grumbled.

~*~

"Ah," Ilya winced as he lowered himself on the bench.

"You okay?" Shane asked him. He had taken a hard check into the boards early in the game and, despite reassuring Shane he was fine, he knew his hip was killing him.

"Fine," Ilya said predictability. "Just sore. Will be fine in a minute."

"Hey," Zane nudged Shane's shoulder. "Go easy on him on game days, okay? We need him."

"Go easy?" Shane's eyebrows drew together. "What do you - Oh! No, that isn't - he - I didn't -"

"It's fine, man. Whatever you two-"

"No!" Shane interrupted. "He's still sore off of Richard's check - Not - Ilya, stop laughing!"

~*~

"Doesn't it bother you?" Shane asks Ilya one day.

"What?"

"That everyone assumes you're, you know," Shane gestured, a cute little blush on his cheeks. "The girl."

"There is no girl," Ilya raises his eyebrows and palms Shane through his pants. "I would know."

"Asshole," Shane scoffs. "You know what I mean."

"I know," Ilya smiled. "But no. It does not bother me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's hot," Ilya lifted his hands, over Shane's chest and up to his face. "That people can't even imagine you like this."

Ilya dips to kiss his neck and Shane's eyes flutter shut.

"Makes no sense," Ilya continued, hands roaming down to Shane's ass. "To me, I know this immediately."

"F-fuck off, you did not."

"Oh, I did," Ilya gripped his chin, forcing Shane to look at him. "I see you... those beautiful freckles and I know how desperate you are for it. So obvious. Thought everyone was looking at this boy thinking how good he would look getting fucked. How well he would take it."

"Ilya..."

"Shh," Ilya patted his face. "But I think is better this way. That only I get to even imagine you like this. Only I get to have it."

"Only you," Shane agreed readily, hands flying to the zipper on Ilya's jeans.

"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders." ☹️💔

His brother does.

His brother calls him, forgetting that Ilya went no-contact with him. Ilya's silent on the phone, listening to Alexei's wife softly explain it to him and take the phone.

He texts Ilya, asking when where he is. Asking who he's playing next game.

Ilya's been retired for over 20 years.

He knows Shane wants to say something, but he never does. He's just quietly supportive.

One day, it's Alexei's wife that calls him. She apologizes for calling. She tells him Alexei doesn't remember her anymore. Or their daughter. He only asks about Ilya and their parents. She offers to delete Ilya's number from his phone.

Ilya declines.

After that, he starts answering the phone. And talking.

Alexei asks where he is. Ilya tells him he's coming home soon. That seems to make Alexei happy.

Alexei asks who Ilya is playing. Ilya says Montreal. Alexei tells him to win or papa will be angry.

Alexei tells him mama made him soup. Ilya tells him that was his daughter. Alexei laughs, he doesn't have a daughter.

He doesn't remember how cruel he was to Ilya. He doesn't remember how much he loved drugs and drinking.

He was so much like Ilya's Alexei, before he started taking after their father. Before he let his anger at their mother consume him. Before he caught Ilya and Sasha and allowed his fear for his little brother to turn into anger and disgust.

One day Ilya offers his wife, Natalia, to have them visit. Their daughter has visited more than once, even stayed with them for a summer after high school. His and Shane's kids tried to teach her hockey.

Natalia regretfully tells him Alexei is not well enough to travel.

Ilya can't travel to them, not while he's married to Shane.

But their phone calls are enough.

About once a week, he gets to speak to a version of his brother than he had dearly missed. He gets to talk about his mama like she's still live, not dead for over 50 years. He gets to talk about the rink he and Alexei used to play hockey at. To talk about the stray cat he and Alexei once hid in their bedroom for a week.

He finds himself looking forward to the phone calls.