ghostsofwords

Ilya Rozanov: You fucked up best hockey player ever, is what you did.

The entire Boston roster piling behind Marly as he types, trying to decide what to say that could save them because their captain has been possessed by the spirit or a soviet military trainer with knife shoes and if they are forced to make double bagskates again they will either puke or die or both.

Because Shane's eyes sometimes get shiny but he never actually lets the tears fall. Even when he's overcome with emotion, this is still something he keeps tight control over, just another extension of the mastery he constantly practices over his body.

Except one day they're in an argument and it gets pretty nasty. They're both crossing the line and being so fucking mean, and then Ilya says something that hits Shane so hard that the tears just start immediately spilling over. Shane turns away, wiping his eyes, angry now at himself for letting this happen. For letting himself lose control like this.

And Ilya is instantly not mad anymore. He's shocked and miserable and most of all guilty because he just made Shane cry. Shane, who he's never seen shed a single tear. What kind of a monster does that??

Shane can't see how hard this hit him because he's still turned away but then Ilya is meekly asking him to please, let me hold you, I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry. And the lingering hurt in Shane's chest is mostly replaced by surprise because this isn't how their fights go, usually they just snipe at each other until they feel like having sex about it instead.

Because Shane's eyes sometimes get shiny but he never actually lets the tears fall. Even when he's overcome with emotion, this is still something he keeps tight control over, just another extension of the mastery he constantly practices over his body.

Except one day they're in an argument and it gets pretty nasty. They're both crossing the line and being so fucking mean, and then Ilya says something that hits Shane so hard that the tears just start immediately spilling over. Shane turns away, wiping his eyes, angry now at himself for letting this happen. For letting himself lose control like this.

And Ilya is instantly not mad anymore. He's shocked and miserable and most of all guilty because he just made Shane cry. Shane, who he's never seen shed a single tear. What kind of a monster does that??

Shane can't see how hard this hit him because he's still turned away but then Ilya is meekly asking him to please, let me hold you, I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry. And the lingering hurt in Shane's chest is mostly replaced by surprise because this isn't how their fights go, usually they just snipe at each other until they feel like having sex about it instead.

Shane: *looking slightly alarmed and annoyed* ew Hayden, don't joke like that

-

Ilya: Shane I'm your workwife

Shane: *visibly fighting the urge to giggle and kick his feet* workwife? Who taught you that word?

Ilya: maybe you are my workwife too

After Irina dies Ilya is maybe sent away. He looks too much like his mother, hes a sad pre-teen boy which manifests as anger. He's getting into fights and embarrassing his father and maybe the last step is getting caught at 14 with Sasha. So he gets sent away, maybe there was an invitation from an international hockey program right as he's caught and so he gets sent there. Maybe his dad says something to the coach, not outing Ilya but it convinces him that Ilya's going to be trouble.

Like, the Ilya we know uses his charm and charisma as a mask very effectively. But this is a sad, scared, and angry 14 year old boy who has been outed and banished to a foreign country.

So he starts the whole thing on his back foot, his coach giving him a lecture in front of the team that Ilya can barely understand about how he needs to get his shit together, he speaks English poorly, and he's so talented on the ice that the other boys are jealous.

Then Shane Hollander, quiet, mildly popular, acknowledged best player on the team and generally a well liked, if intense, kid sits next to Ilya as they're lacing up his skates. He compliments Ilya on his hockey, says it precisely and carefully but not condescendingly so Ilya understands.

Somehow this weird intense canadian keeps sitting next to Ilya, keeps pairing up with him on the ice, somehow becomes Ilya's best friend. The other boys leave him alone, well no but he only gets the same amount of hazing as Shane and the rest of the 14 year olds.

He was already mid-dial when Ilya's name popped up on his phone. Shaking finger halfway to 'Lily's contact, heart hammering in his throat.

It was just...the bed felt so fucking empty. After nearly two months of sleeping next to each other, of sharing space, of blissfully waking up and dozing off in each others' arms...it felt like a piece of his heart was missing.

He was back in his place in Montreal. Ilya, he knew, was in Boston. He'd gotten the confirmation text, had responded with a few replies. But it wasn't just the feeling of being away from the cottage that had him out of sorts. It was the feeling of being alone. The feeling of wanting something he’d finally been given a taste of after years of thinking he could never have it.

Not that he was able to put any of that into words.

"Hello?" he asked eagerly, trying to hide the way his voice trembled. 

"Hollander?"

Fuck, Ilya sounded wrecked. The same way he sounded after sleeping in on a Saturday or after a particularly lazy fuck on a sunny afternoon. Shane swallowed, trying to stifle all of the emotion that threatened to bubble over. "Yeah?"

"Are we still being honest?"

That was a good question. Away from the safety of the cottage, away from the oasis of secrecy in their perfect utopia, would they still be brave enough to share their emotions? To strip themselves bare emotionally as well as physically?

Shane's whole body felt heavy, throbbing with anguish and need. He'd never wanted Ilya closer, never missed someone more. Tears prickled at his eyes. "Yeah," he croaked, because he needed something.

"You are not next to me, and I cannot sleep."

A mangled laugh-sob wrenched from his throat, relief and distress filling him in equal measure...because at least now, he knew they were in this together. "Fuck," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand.

"I think...I think we are fucked, yes?" Ilya murmured softly, his voice full of amusement and sorrow, like he'd never been more thankful to be in a shit situation.

"Yeah," Shane nodded, a watery smile on his face, his response echoing in the empty room.

But before he could think of something else to do or say, his phone vibrated against his ear and he accepted Ilya's facetime request.

Stomach jolting, Shane took in his boyfriend's face. Even in the unflattering light, he looked stunning; his eyes red and his lips curling a little. 

"Plug in your phone, sweetheart," Ilya murmured, laying back in his bed. "We fall asleep like this."

Shane nodded and sighed, doing what Ilya said.

And like, Ilya expected them to get stopped a little. He got recognized and stopped in Boston. But he wasn’t expecting to be recorded pretty much all day. Photos, video, the second anyone recognizes them - and everyone recognizes them - phones are out. Shane is repeatedly apologized to and told not to pay for a single thing all day. He leaves like a 300% tip on each of their purchases, but still. No one will let him pay for anything.

And everyone wants a picture. People are not shy about coming to him and asking for a picture or an autograph and Shane just - gives them whatever they want. Grown adults, teenagers, parents with small children… Shane and Ilya take a photo with each of the business owners to hang on their wall. The owner of the cafe almost cries when she sees him and gives him a big hug. She doesn’t need to ask for his order; she remembers it and she gives him a special energy breakfast ball thing she’s been perfecting with him in mind.

The bakery made his favourite cookie in the approximate shape and size of a puck because they heard he was in town and hoped he’d swing by.

“Hollander, you own a bar here?”

“Uh, nope, they just… changed it after I left. Used to be called Chez Serge. Hayden told me there’s a winebar called 2481 in the village now. Or maybe Saint Henri? I can’t remember.”

It’s fucking insane. And Ilya knew it was insane, but this… this is actually fucking crazy.

The only place that isn’t quite so bad is Schwartz’s. And after Ilya gets over the fact that Shane used to come here alone late sometimes (smoked meat sandwiches are NOT team dietician approved), he boggles over Shane having a casual chat with the guy making their sandwiches. It’s 11:30 at night. There’s a photo of Shane and this guy on the wall, and Shane’s grinning widely with two thumbs up because he is a dork. “Hey Ilya, c’mere I want you to meet someone.”

They get bagels after. They just - drive to the bagel place that is open 24h, get a dozen, take yet another photo, and pick at them on the way back to Pike’s. They’re so fresh they’re still steaming.

Ilya looks at Shane from across the console. He’s been doing this the whole time? Even with the added pressure of their whole thing before it was a thing? Christ. “It was always like this?”

Shane shrugs. “I mean, not always. This was pretty bad, but it was like this every year we made the playoffs. It was similar on years we didn’t do as well, just a little less, you know? I could at least go places without being stopped all the time. I’d still be filmed, but I think people were less proud to be seen with me? So less pictures with fans. But during the playoffs? Yeah, always like this. Why? It had to be similar for you in Boston.”

“Ah, no, Hollander. This is fucking crazy.”

“Yeah,” Shane shrugs. “Metros fans are passionate. The worst were the game day look paps. I always failed miserably at those.”

Ilya takes a breath.

“Hey,” Cliff says, suddenly struck with the best idea he’s ever had. “I think I know someone you’d get along great with.”

“Marleau, I’m not really looking—“

“No, no, trust me. He’s a good guy, and one of the best hockey players I’ve ever met—aside from you, of course.”

Shane isn’t sure where Cliff is going with this, but he does know he’s not interested in anyone but Ilya.

“I know you mean well but—“

“Rozanov,” Cliff announces, grin a mile wide, and Shane blinks. Cliff, for his part, is incredibly sure this is a good idea; he knows that Ilya is bisexual, even if he doesn’t talk about it. Even Cliff is aware of the dangers with Russia. Even if the rest of the league hates it, they can fuck off.

Mistaking Shane’s silence for skepticism, Cliff continues, “I know he seems like an asshole, but he’s one of the best men you’ll ever meet. I know you’ve seen it—the whole rivalry thing is bullshit anyways, right? He’s actually a big softie…”

Shane Hollander routinely uses sunscreen(for safety against skin cancer) and washes his face with a sensitive skin friendly soap in the shower. He uses the same bar for his entire body.

Beyond that his smooth skin is entirely coincidental. Ilya is very jealous of this. Ilya wears hair products, styles himself meticulously and has tried multiple skincare routines. None of which are giving him the supple skin he desires.

The first time Ilya goes to Shane's real apartment and not the sex condo he is outraged by the number of unused samples of skincare products, mostly because these brands are choosing to work with Shane when he knows for a fact that Shane does nothing to properly take care of his skin.

Shane's bathroom sink is barren.

Shane *enters Ilya's bathroom*: why do you have so much clutter in here

Ilya *outraged*: is not clutter Hollander we did not all climb out of womb and become world's prettiest man by accident

Shane *having no filter*: why do you bother with it if it doesn't work?