I Have Loved The Stars Too Fondly

MOMA: museum of modern art

So when they’re lying in bed one day after a long evening practice, scrolling on their phones, Shane turns towards Ilya and asks, “what’s a ‘slavic stare’?”

“What?”

Shane turned his phone screen towards his husband. It’s a list of ‘Top 10 Athletes with Best Slavic Stare’.

“I am only number four?” Ilya frowned.

“What is it?” Shane pressed.

“Is this,” Ilya tossed his phone aside and rolled over on top of his husband. He had himself propped up on his hands, strong arms bracketing Shane’s head.

Shane looked confused at first. Ilya closed his eyes and set his features. When he opened his eyes, they were gazing up at Shane, chin tilted down. His jaw was set tight with a hard line at his brow. All playfulness had fled his features.

It was the same expression Shane had seen during important games. Games where Ilya wasn’t just trying to win, he was trying to destroy the other team.

“Ilya?” Shane breathed.

But Ilya just stared. It was intense, focused, like his world narrowed down to a single task.

It felt like… how Shane imagined a rabbit would feel caught in the eyes of a wolf.

“Ilya, stop it,” Shane wiggled, hands on Ilya’s chest to push him off. The fact he used about 10% of his strength to do this meant nothing.

Ilya grabbed both of his hands in one of his and pinned them above his head.

He said something in Russian that Shane only caught fragments of. His voice was deeper like it got when he spoke his native language. Shane got “you” “wanted” “good boy” and “me” but it was enough for him to vaguely catch onto the meaning.

“Ilya, I’m…,” Shane whined and unsuccessfully tried to yank his hands back. “I’m tired. I just wanted an…explanation.”

“But you are hands-on learner,” Ilya said in English but with a thick accent, not dropping the stare.

Shane squeezed his eyes close as Ilya dipped to capture his prey.

The whole team settles in with rapt attention, ready to roast the shit out of Roz over it via group chat, only to see. Well. It's a series of interview clips over the years. It's made up exclusively of three things. One, clips of Hollander "stealing" linguistically challenging questions that the whole team knows Rozanov hates. Two, clips of Rozanov derailing questions that are about Hollander's "representation of his community," which gossip on the street says makes Hollander uncomfortable. Three, Hollander and Rozanov commenting individually on the rivalry, with vicious comments such as. "He's of course a great player, but he'll find us difficult to beat." Such fire in Rozanov's comments are especially damning, given his whole chirp-king-schtick. The video editor, with all the obsession and perception of a true fangirl, makes sure to circle every instance where you can see the shadow of Hollander and Rozanov pressing their feet together - and in one instance holding hands - beneath the interview table. (You wouldn't see it unless you're looking for it - or unless someone circles it in red for you.)

The video finishes, and the team sits in a kind of shocked silence as the next video auto-plays. This one is a compilation of Rozanov chirping Hollander on the ice. Here, the editor has helpfully drawn an arrow to Hollander's face whenever he blushes. The editor has also inserted text overlays with comments like. "Look at how fiercely Rozanov insults his rival." And then puts smaller arrows pointing to Roz's body language, with helpful texts like "excited wiggle indicating absolute fury," and "besotted grin indicating deep hatred." The sarcasm is distressingly accurate in its point.

(Listen, the whole team knows what Roz looks like when he's chirping someone. This - this is not it. This is not it at all. This is him when he's being silly with people he really likes. What is going on.)

The video finishes, and this time someone has the presence of mind to stop the auto-play before another mind-breaking thing comes up.

Someone else, trying to lighten the silence with a joke, and maybe dismiss it all as a fever dream, says, "Montreal Jane? More like Montreal Shane, am I right?"

And. Well.

Once it's out there, there's no coming back from it.

“Hey, Roz?”

Ilya recognized that tone. People had used it with him before–that gentle, almost nervous tone of voice of someone afraid of his reaction, afraid of his emotions. Heart sinking, he turned to see Troy and Harris standing before him, both of their expressions confusingly unreadable. “Yes?” he asked, abandoning the pads he was halfway through adorning.

“Listen…we debated on whether or not to show you this,” Harris said slowly, phone in his hand.

“We weren’t sure if it would distract you more, or less…seeing it now,” Troy added, wrinkling his nose.

“Seeing what?” he demanded, panicking more and reaching for the phone. He’d just spoken to Shane a few hours ago, confirming that he would be at the game today. Had he gotten into an accident? Was he hurt? Or was it maybe Svetlana? Or–shit. He clenched his fists. Was Anya okay?

“We figured you’d hear about it, see it, as soon as the game started. This way, you have a second to…get yourself together,” Troy continues explaining, seemingly completely unaware that Ilya was about to die of terror. “Y’know. Refocus. Because–”

“Because what, Barrett?” Ilya spat, getting irritated. “Who is hurt, who is not well? If you think I will be playing game instead of going to hospital–!”

“Nah, man, everyone is fine! Sorry to scare you, just–look!” Harry said with an apologetic smile, finally showing Ilya his phone screen.

And there, in tiny technicolor, was a picture of Shane, Yuna, and David arriving to the game, all dressed in Ottawa jerseys.

Ilya’s jersey, to be specific.

Which meant Shane Hollander was in the crowd of Ilya’s playoff game, wearing his jersey. On his body. Ilya’s name on his back. In stadium lighting. For the whole fucking world to see.

“Fuck,” Ilya rasped hoarsely, mind going blank, sinking shakily onto the nearest bench, bringing the phone closer to his eyes. Suddenly, he didn’t care at all about the game today. All he cared about was getting Shane in an empty room, and stripping him of all of his clothes…except that jersey. “This is…”

“Yeah,” Harris said with a bright smile and a nod. “We made the right decision. Imagine if he’d seen that for the first time skating out onto the ice?”

“He would’ve been completely useless for the entire first period,” Troy chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Ilya, chopping onions quietly in the kitchen: I want to get a divorce

Shane, spitting out a mouthful of smoothie and looking like Ilya just knifed him in the stomach: what??

and without missing a beat so as not prolong the torture too much, Ilya just says ‘so I can marry you again’ with a shit eating grin on his face.

Eddie ran into Steve Harrington at a bar.

He just finished a show around the corner, and maybe it was a risk being out in public so close to so many fans - but he really just needed to blow off some steam. How was he expected to go back to his hotel and settle in for the night after playing for twenty thousand fans? Their biggest show yet! The guys were drained, happy to head back and crash for the night, but not Eddie, he was buzzing.

Eddie felt like they’d finally made it big. Graduating to a real arena tour was a risk. Until they saw the crowd with their own eyes, the band wasn’t sure they could actually sell so many tickets. In the right settings, they were actually starting to get recognized- mostly when they were all together, but still, Eddie couldn’t believe how far they’d come.

So when he ran into his high school crush - golden boy of their small town - Steve Harrington, Eddie felt like the stars had aligned just for him.

Steve glanced over at him, catching Eddie’s look of disbelief. Eddie couldn’t even attempt to act like he wasn’t staring at the man beside him.

“Eddie Munson? Holy shit-” Steve’s eyes went wide.

Was he-… no… Steve Harrington couldn’t be a fan, could he?

Eddie let out a surprised laugh and beamed. “In the flesh.”

Steve turned a little red, grin stretching across his lips. “Wow.”

Steve hadn’t noticed him in high school, but now that he was kinda of famous, it seemed like he was finally on the man’s radar. Eddie could have felt bitter about it- could have turned up his nose at the guy that never wanted him when he was nobody, but he wasn’t so angry with the world these days. Next to him was a beautiful man, and he had the chance to fulfill his younger self’s fantasies.

So what if Steve only saw him as a rockstar, Eddie had survived being known for far worse.

———

Steve ran into Eddie Munson at a bar.

He moved to Indy a year after he graduated with his best friend Robin. After his popularity crashed and burned his senior year, Steve was left pretty aimless for what he wanted for his future, but in that loss, he discovered so much more about himself. Now he was happily working as a teaching aid.

Running into Eddie was a blast from the past. He’d always been frustratingly fascinated by the guy, but it took an enlightening conversation with Robin to realize there was more to it. By the time he realized it, Eddie was already packing up and leaving town as fast as he could. He’d always been Steve’s ‘what if.’

Now, he had a chance to play out his long harbored crush, and Eddie looked good. He had always had a wild confidence, but now he seemed more self assured. Less… defensive.

Maybe Steve threw himself at the guy- but listen, this was the guy that made him realize he was bi in the first place. He deserved to be a little slutty about it.

He followed Eddie back to his hotel room, which was… wow. Strangely impressive. Steve had been a little disappointed to find out Eddie was apparently just passing through Indy. There went his hopes that this could happen again. Though, all his thoughts went out the window when Eddie’s lips made contact with his neck.

They barely made it to the bed, pressing each other against every surface on the way. Steve couldn’t believe how hot Eddie had gotten. He was always eye catching, but the added ink, leather pants, and- shit is that eyeliner? Steve was sure this had to be a dream.

———

Eddie laid in the mess of blankets and pillows, limbs tangled with Steve’s. He was tracing the moles on Steve’s arm, making lazy little constellations.

“God I’ve been thinking about that for way too long,” Steve breathed out with a giddy laugh. “Sorry that’s so weird to say.”

Eddie grinned. “You have no idea.”

Steve turned to face him, playfully urgent. Their faces were maybe an inch apart. Eddie wanted to pull him back in for another round.

“No- really. Is it completely embarrassing to admit you were the one that made me realize I liked guys in the first place?” Steve’s cheeks were red, like this was a humiliating admission and not the most groundbreaking moment of Eddie’s life.

He tried to play to cool, even as he pulled Steve impossibly closer.

“Oh yeah? Possibly the best contribution metal music has made to society,” he mumbled against his skin, pressing kisses down Steve’s neck,

“Metal? Representing the entire genre now? Nice to know you haven’t changed,” Steve hummed in amusement.

Eddie’s brow furrowed. He pulled back to look at Steve. “Haven’t changed?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you were always going on about how metal was the best music in high school. You even had that band with your friends. I saw you guys once. What was the name again?” Steve played with Eddie’s hair, eyes tracing down the curls.

Eddie could hear his heart beat pounding away.

“You remember me from high school?”

Steve blinked, confusion twisting his relaxed expression. “What? Of course? How else would I know you?”

Eddie let out a choked laugh. “Holy shit.”

Steve sat up, releasing himself from their position. “Eddie, what are you talking about?” He looked guarded.

Eddie couldn’t have that. He pulled Steve back down into the mattress, rolling over to bracket him between his arms.

“I made the horrible assumption that you didn’t even notice me back then, my liege. My mistake truly- and rest assured, I’ll be forgoing any further assumptions,” Eddie smiled down at him.

Steve seemed to relax a bit, looking up at him with a soft expression. “Didn’t notice you? Eddie… you were all I could think about.”

Eddie leaned down, pressing his face to Steve’s chest. “Oh sweetheart, you wound me! What could have been…” Eddie teased. “Though, you got to skip some rough years, so maybe it was all for the best.”

“Rough years? What happened?” Steve looked so beautifully concerned. Eddie felt his heart melt in his chest.

“Well, it all worked out in the end- but I still have that band you so graciously remember, and we’ve been on a wild ride the past few years. To be completely honest, it’s why I thought you recognized me elsewhere,” Eddie bashfully admitted.

Steve tilted his head. “Oh? So, you guys are like… getting pretty successful?”

Eddie nodded. “Did you uh… hear about the concert down the street? It was around the corner from the bar. Corroded Coffin?”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically. “That’s you? Holy shit, Eddie! That’s amazing!”

He couldn’t help but collapse against Steve in a fit of laughter. Steve wrapped his arms around him, holding Eddie close.

“So, wait, you thought I was… what- some kinda groupie?” Steve scoffed.

Eddie felt his face get warm, hiding against Steve’s chest. “Shut up… it seemed more likely than you being into… me.” He peaked up at Steve.

Steve’s eyes softened.

———

Eddie Munson was apparently some kind of big time rockstar. Steve had heard him play once at the Hideout, and he wasn’t surprised his band made it. They were good- even if it wasn’t Steve’s type of music.

The fancy hotel room made more sense.

Steve had honestly just been too focused on Eddie to notice all the little details. Everything was so intense, even now, he could barely stop himself from running his hands all over Eddie’s body.

Okay- maybe he wasn’t doing much to hold himself back. Especially when he immediately offered to play the role of groupie and blew Eddie until his eyes rolled back.

It was morning now, and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he stayed the night with someone. Unfortunately, he still woke up to an empty bed. Steve knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Eddie was famous now, and he was just some old high school crush. He showered, got dressed in his clothes from the night before, and sighed as he headed for the door.

Eddie blinked back at him, room key pinched between two fingers, a travel cup in each hand, and a paper bag hanging from between his teeth. They stood there in surprise for a moment before Eddie pointedly looking down at the bag and back at Steve. He took the hint, grabbing the bag from him.

“Well, you’re up early. Thought I could maybe sneak back before you got up,” Eddie smiled, brushing past him.

Steve followed him back into the small kitchenette area. “You… wanted me to stay?”

Eddie’s attention snapped to him. “Of course? Shit, were you leaving just now?” He looked hurt.

Steve shook his head quickly. “Nope. I’m not going anywhere.”