GreatPemberly

“your dad really likes this brand of pasta lately, he says it brings out the sauce.”

“ilya loves cookies and cream, i’ll get some to put in the freezer for when he comes over.”

“now, does ilya like cans or glass bottles of coke more?” “bottles, he thinks cans are ugly.”

“does dad still take fish oil?” “three a day, speaking of, we’re running low.”

then the raiders shoot a PSA for the boston library. it’s the first time ilya’s been in a library since he was a child. and he simply cannot handle the librarians. they spend an extra hour filming because ilya stutters whenever someone with glasses asks him a direct question. he misspells his own name while getting a library card when the man helping him rebuttons the top of his collared shirt. he tries to flirt with a woman reshelving books by asking her what the numbers on the spines mean and if he can get hers; she doesn't clock his pick-up line and explains the dewey decimal system to him for ten minutes. ilya blushes the entire time. 

NOT SNACK BITCH

OH MY GOD

and shane feels sick that ilya’s sitting at home, all alone, nobody to take care of him. he doesn’t have any close friends on his team yet, and even if he did, they’re playing hockey games and can’t be taking care of him.

shane looks at his schedule to see if he can make it home for a few days, but even with skipping optional practices he can’t be back in ottawa for more than 4 hours.

so shane enlists his mom to take care of ilya. (at this point, yuna and david aren’t super close with ilya as he just moved).

yuna is, of course, happy to help. she heads over with homemade soup and meal replacement shakes and an arsenal of over the counter medications for whatever symptoms ilya has.

when she shows up, she expects ilya is going to brush her off, tell her he’s fine and doesn’t need help, and she’s going to have to push herself in. but that’s not what happens at all.

when ilya answers the door, he looks HORRIBLE. and yuna immediately gets some food into him, changes his sheets and gets him into bed to lower his fever.

shane is texting his mom for updates every hour, and yuna is telling shane how sweet ilya is and how thankful he’s been. he doesn’t want to put her out but she can tell how tired and sick he is. they play some card games together and watch movies. yuna drives him to his checkup with the team doctor to make sure he’s progressing okay. he gets a lot better but is still a bit under the weather by the end of the week.

finally, it’s sunday and shane is driving to ottawa to relieve yuna. he speeds all the way there, anxious to see his boyfriend again. when he lets himself into ilya’s house, it’s eerily quiet.

“hello?” shane calls.

he hears yuna shushing him from the living room, and heads towards the sound.

he comes to find ilya asleep, curled up on his side with his head in yuna’s lap. she is running her hands through ilya’s hair soothingly.

shane immediately takes out his phone to grab a picture and tears up a little at the scene.

Shane is playing with the curls at Ilya's neck. He's laughing at a joke from Luca. He rolls his eyes at a chirp from Ilya who in turn presses an exaggerated kiss to his cheek. He's playing mario kart with Wyatt and Young at some point, all of them yelling and swearing loudly. He's holding Ilya's hand in both of his. He's talking to Harris about going back to the restaurant they went to the other day, you guys want to join us? He's hooking his ankle over Ilya's. He's beaming at Harris as he takes a picture of the couple. He's grinning at something Ilya whispers to him in Russia.

After dinner, Hayden's standing on the patio with a beer in his hand watching as Shane and Ilya chase each other around Bood's yard, a spectacle that is accompanied by loud cheers from the rookies that are watching them. At one point Shane full on tackles Ilya and they end up on the grass laughing and wrestling. Wyatt whoops and shouts "Hollzy Rozy wrestling championship back the fuck on!" joining the rookies, half of them chanting "Rozy" while the other is chanting "Hollzy".

Shane explaining a hockey play on his laptop screen to an attentive looking Anya

Shane squatted down in a grocery aisle with three different dog food bags in front of him, comparing ingredients

Shane doing yoga and Anya imitating some of his poses, Shane reaching over and slightly correcting her posture

Shane up at 4 am to shovel a path for her in the snow to go out and pee

Shane and Yuna debating which of 10 different themed bandanas goes best on Anya for that particular day

Shane carrying bags inside and Anya is trotting after him with small ones in her mouth

Shane on the dock with a ball and hockey stick, he hits the ball with the stick and sends it flying into the lake and she takes off like a rocket and jumps in after it

Ilya though? Ilya would LIVE for it. I could 100% see him being forced to retire early hockey and immediately signing up to be a puppy-raiser for service dog organization. He would be the organization’s poster boy. He would get hockey teams to sponsor dog so the cost of their care during puppyhood is covered. His and Shane’s house would be a revolving door of cute and squishy Labrador puppies. He would adore getting down on the floor and explaining to small children why there is dog wearing special jacket in the grocery store. He would SOB HYSTERICALLY every time he turned a dog in for advanced training and dramatically tell Shane he will never ever recover from this heartbreak. Then he’d bring home a new foster pup a few weeks later and he’d be in love all over again. He would get periodic postcard updates from his pups in advanced training and insist they need to go on the fridge. (“These are our CHILDREN, Shane, and they are sending us letters from college. Are you not proud?”) Every single person who enters the house must look at the postcards. (He probably makes copies so David can have them on his desk at work.)

Shane would have to make a rule they can’t adopt all the foster pups who flunk out of service dog school. (The failure rate is 50-80% depending on the type of service work so there would be many.) Except, of course, for that Very Special Dog (every puppy-raiser has one) who he pretends he doesn’t like, but he 100% cried the day they left for advanced training.

Dog tax:

My old lady, Whimsey, who was my Very Special Dog.

WHIMSEY!!! I'M LOVE HER!!!!

prolly like most people at some point in his life he gets a betta fish in a plastic cup at a pet store, either out of pity bc it’s half dead in there or as a strange gift from someone who really did not know what else to get a multimillionaire hockey prodigy. and like most people he doesn’t know how to take care of it outside of a too-small tank (or god forbid a bowl 🤢) and some plastic plants and gravel. surely thats okay, right? surely it’s better than the little cup. surely it will get better in a real tank.

but even outside of the way-too-small cup the fish doesn’t get better, so ofc shane fixates on this and is like okay. i need to be The Best at this. so he researches. he learns about proper tank size and water temp and pH balance and the best types of food and filtration and aeration and nitrate/nitrite balance and everything. and he does better when he knows better. and then his fish is getting better! he swims around more and suddenly has so much color and full beautiful fins!! shane hollander is HOOKED

eventually his first fish dies (they don’t live long even under ideal conditions and his were Not ideal for a while at the beginning) and shane looks into fish breeders and importers. his next fish is so much more expensive than the first but he gets him bc he’s metros colors :’)

and gets a bunch of live plants and neocardinia shrimp in all the funky colors he can find and it’s gorgeous and zen and happy but he has the Itch now. he needs another tank. and he has the money so fuck it. tank number two.

and his next fish definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the color scheme of his rival. not at all. and he definitely doesn’t smile so stupidly big when said rival comes over for their next hookup session and GASPS and points and goes “hollander!!! this one looks like me!!! is a little raider!!!! has good hair too!!!!!”

GOD WAIT

the tuna meltdown is averted because cuddle time on the couch is happening until winnie (who is visiting this house for the first time along with shane and was SUPPOSED to be occupying herself with her chew toy) discovers that ilya's ice dispenser is NOT winnie proofed >:D

shane is literally kissing his way down ilya's belly only to suddenly hear the clatter of a FUCKTON of ice cubes hitting the floor and just "WINNIE! NO! BAD GIRL!"

From the way Rozanov seems content and unbothered and the way Winnie has made herself perfectly at home, Shane gathers he’s the only one today feels strange for. 

“You have a dog?” Shane asks, more than a little surprised, when Rozanov rises from grabbing a dog bowl out of a lower cabinet and fills it with water before putting it on the floor, stealing an ear scritch from Winnie before he straightens again. 

“No?” Rozanov asks, seeming a little thrown by the question. 

“That’s a dog bowl,” Shane says, glancing to it again. 

Rozanov suddenly busies himself with a dishcloth on what appears to be a perfectly clean section of counter. 

“Shane, how does it feel to be back on Montreal ice?”

But, like everyone, his body has it's imperfections. Ones that are visual, but don't effect his function. Ones that are just annoying.

Ones like his stretch marks. He got them as a young teenager, when he starting gaining muscle faster than his skin could stretch to accommodate it.

Ones like the dips in his lower back that he could never fill out with muscle.

Ones like the layer of fat over his stomach that never lets him have really visible definition unless he restricts his water intake.

He's used to these things being airbrushed away when he does commercials or promotions or modeling. Stretch marks are smoothed over, his back is groove free, his abs are well defined. Foundations smooths out his skin and his body is arranged in the most flattering light.

He's never given it much thought. It's just what post-production does - make people look perfect.

His viewpoints shifts one day, as he goes through the photo album on his husband's phone. The Cens are doing a Paws for Pucks night and Harris requested a few pictures of everyone's dogs for their post. Ilya takes a lot more pictures of Anya (or just pictures in general) than Shane. And for some reason, Ilya roped Shane into finding suitable pictures.

He couldn't resist opening the album that was simply titled 'Shane'.

There were hundreds photos of Shane. There were super close-ups of his face with the .5 lens that made his eyes and forehead look big and his chin look little. There were pictures of him on the couch leaning over, skin rolls visible on his stomach. A picture of him blinking, with his eyes half closed. A picture of him sleeping with his face smushed on the couch. A picture of him looking down at his phone that makes it look like he has a double chin. A zoomed in picture of the crinkle lines by his eyes when he smiles. A picture of him first thing in the morning, grumpy look on his red, puffy face. A picture of him from the side with his face slathered in shaving cream.

And yes, there were some of Shane's modeling pictures and some stills from hockey videos, but the vast majority where just random candid photos.

He's not really used to seeing photos of himself like this.

"You are snooping?"

"Jesus Christ!" Shane jumped at his husband's voice behind him. He twisted around on the couch, unhappy look on his face. "Why do you have all these?" He waved the phone.

"Photos of my husband?"

"Photos like - like this!" Shane tapped on one. A picture of him with his hair sticking up in all directions, hand rubbing at his clearly tired eyes.

"That one?" Ilya leaned over the back of the couch, arms wrapping around Shane's shoulders. "That one is because you looked adorable."

"I did not," Shane grumbled. "I look stupid in all these pictures."

"You think my husband looks stupid?" Ilya's arms tightened.

"I am your husband," Shane selected another picture. A zoomed in picture of the stretch marks on his thighs that wrap around to his ass. "And yes, in these pictures, I look stupid."

"You don't look stupid," Ilya pressed a hand on his forehead, pulling his head back so he was looking up at Ilya leaning over him. "That is what you look like."

"Well, sorry," Shane wiggled out of his grasp, embarrassed.

"Why sorry?" Ilya hopped over the back of the couch, causing Shane to grunt as he was jostled, and settled next to him. "These are my favourite pictures. Not all pictures make the cut for this album."

"But they're all so...," Shane struggled for the word. Saying ugly was not necessarily true. It felt true, but he knew that wouldn't be well received. "Unflattering."

That still seemed to make Ilya unhappy. "I am your husband."

"...okay?"

"I am not just stupid crush or boyfriend. I get to see all of you. Not just public you. Not dressed up you. I get to have it all. This is just for me."

"Oh," Shane looked back at the photos. It was true - he wasn't much for posting online anyway, but he had a brand to keep up. He's sure that Rolex wouldn't enjoy people seeing him out and about in old sweat pants with holes in the knees.

"And," Ilya continued, pulling him over to rest his head on Ilya's chest. "You understand we will not always look like underwear models, yes? We get old, retire, abs are gone. Gray in our hair. Wrinkles. Still, you will be most sexy man in the world to me. Because you are my husband."

Shane swallowed, the familiar feeling of tears in his eyes. "You really think that far ahead, Rozanov?"