２４ × ８１

'get out. you know you shouldn't be here. it's been six months-'

'wow. six months already. guess time flies when you're having fun'

'this is your idea of fun, is it? getting kicked out of clubs and tattooing my name on your ass while you were drunk?'

'who told you that? every time i fucked one of your teammates i told them to keep that a secret'

'my teammates kept your secret just fine. your teammates, however-'

'ah, you could not get off with my team unless you were talking about my ass. i am flattered, hollander'

'i couldn't get off at all, actually. whole team had this sad vibe to it. it's hard to be sexy when you haven't made the playoffs since hockey was invented'

'the sad vibe was because they missed me. you see, i was busy marrying sveta in las vegas'

'i know. it was before our divorce officially came through. i've reported you for bigamy and they're gonna revoke your citizenship'

'jesus christ shane'

'sorry was that too much'

'no, is fine. i will hide from immigration with these nice people i have formed a throuple with. you might know them, they are called yuna and david-'

Shane:

Ilya:

But Southern Ohio had a hockey rink, and hockey ended up saving them all. And now Cliff gets to travel, and pay his mothers mortgage, and send his sister through med school, and collect tiny, cheesy magnets for his fridge.

When Roz first came over to his place, he asked Cliff about almost every single one. Why he picked the Space Needle over Mt. Ranier, why he doesn't have the Hollywood sign, what this landmark on the Winnipeg one was. Roz was good at this, at reaching out, connecting. He was really bad at being reached out to.

The next fall, Roz came back from Russia with a magnet to add to his collection, "Moscow" written underneath a building. When Cliff asked what the building was, he explained it was the Bolshoi Theatre, and how his mother would take him and his brother to go see the ballet, and how he pretended it was boring but really, he always thought it was amazing.

Seven months later, Cliff was grabbing a drink for a girl he invited over, when he realized the Moscow magnet was missing. He panicked, and with no explanation to his date, quickly dropped to the floor and started grabbing behind the cabinets, under the fridge. He audibly exhaled when he felt the rubbery edges of it tucked up against the floorboards, and nothing felt right until it was back, stuck to the fridge with the rest of them.

you can’t grow up arguing with people on the internet without picking up how to absolutely roast people

even better he scrolls through hockey updates, so he always knows the biggest scandals and rumors around each player and where to hit them where it hurts

Over the years, Ilya’s developed a sort of…routine…with women. 

He’s never mean or cruel, no. Having been raised by his mama, he could never dream of treating a girl like anything less than what she’s worth. 

But he still refuses to get close, so there’s certain boundaries he maintains. No sleepovers, no gifts, no meeting the family. And as far as pet names? Sure, he’s been known to call a girl ‘baby’ in bed, or something more degrading if she specifically asks. But he never, never uses something more intimate. Not even with Sveta.

It’s never been a problem. His lips have never threatened to form the shape of more loving, terrifying phrases. He’s never had to even think about what he’s saying–the rules have been an innate part of him.

Until now.

Until he returns, in the dim light of dawn, from the bathroom of a cottage that’s somehow become theirs in the past few days. Until he looks down and sees Shane Hollander spread out, limbs akimbo, on his stomach, snoring softly and completely relaxed, in the sheets they’d wrecked only hours ago. Until he gazes fondly at the only piece of his heart that’s not in his body. That stubbornly resides in fucking Montreal and insists on playing a contact sport, just to make him worry more.

Shane groans, shifting a little and pats at the empty spot in the bed where Ilya usually sleeps. “....’Lya?” he murmurs sleepily, raising his head a few centimeters off the bed, not even opening his eyes.

And, fuck. Suddenly, Ilya can’t control anything about himself. The way his heart swells and thuds in his chest, the way his whole body warms and his knees weaken. The way his mouth forms around the words before he can think better of them. He just moves forward and pulls Shane into an embrace, whispering, “Here, sweetheart. I am here.”

And as Shane relaxes against him, muttering, “Don’ leave….”