R.J.B

And at first, Shane is like fuck yeah I get to be a husband, and then halfway through the season he’s like guys… I feel the need to remind you that I’m actually Shane fucking Hollander

“I have a question.”

Shane had taken over five business days to bring it up, ruminating on it over and over again in his constantly-whirring brain. At first, he’d dismissed it, thinking himself to be too jealous or annoying for worrying, but the thought hadn’t left his mind and had instead taken root, growing into a giant tree of anxiety.

Ilya, who was sitting on the couch next to him, turned and smirked. “Yes. Is still nine inches.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Not what I was asking, asshole.”

“But is still useful information, yes?”

He tried to stay focused. “When you talk to Svetlana. She calls you Ilyukha. Is that a nickname?”

The other man broke into a genuine smile. “Oh. Um, yes, kind of? But a little different. There are different ways to change names, in Russian. They can mean different things. Sveta calls me Ilyukha, because she is my friend. When I was a child, my mother called me Ilyushenka, to be…cute, I guess?”

Immediately fascinated, Shane nodded. “Oh. So like…do significant others do that, too?”

Ilya smiled again, biting his lip a little in amusement. “Yes, often. It is…something people do when they are close. Using these things.”

Shane frowned, resisting the urge to pout. “But I call you Ilya.”

“Hollander, we used last names for first seven years of knowing each other, ‘Ilya’ is special name to us at this point, yes?” Ilya laughed, shaking his head.

But that wasn’t a good enough answer. “Still. If other people do it…” Shane insisted, still frowning. “What would I call you?”

Ilya’s expression softened, his eyes filling with adoration and love. “Ilyusha,” he whispered, with a small, rather nervous smile. “But…only if you want.”

“Ilyusha,” Shane repeated slowly, tasting the word on his tongue.

The change in the other man’s face was immediate. Eyes brightening, mouth turning into a huge grin, he was suddenly smiling so brightly he lit up the entire room, looking so enamored that Shane was shocked he didn’t tackle him right then and there. 

It just made Shane smile as well. “You like it?” he asked teasingly.

Ilya pinched his lips together and shrugged, cheeks turning red. “A little.”

When he find’s out, Shane is like. YOU are fixing this and I am staying with my parents until you do. He leaves the house and starts laughing the second he’s in the car. It’s so them, it’s so Ilya. Shane loves this stupid, goofy man.

He’s so relentlessly amused by this but he can’t tell Ilya that, not yet, no, first he’s gotta send out a mass message of Hi! Ilya and I are postponing our wedding because Ilya may or may not need to get a divorce from Cliff Marleau before we can get married. We will send out invitations with new date as soon as we can. Best wishes! Shane Hollander

(He ignores the dozens of phone calls & texts that meet hit his phone the second he sends that message) (that’s a later Shane problem)

(Shane calls Ilya every night, asking for updates and to see how he’s doing. He is never angry nor is he hurt, he’s just firm about You are Fixing This Mess)

Ilya has never worked faster to resolve something in his life. He spends an amount of money that would make any sane person flinch. Shane sees him three days later with a bouquet in one hand and in the other proof of dissolution of marriage.

Evan kisses all the places where Barty’s joints hurt.

Their All Stars break doesn’t line up and Ilya’s got a week of away games.

Shane goes IN on research. Makes seven different kinds of pickles (carrots, parsnips, onions, beets, three different kinds of cucumber pickles).

He has to leave right from the All Stars game. He tells Ilya as they’re packing up their stuff that he left Ilya some presents in his fridge in Ottawa.

Ilya gets home and depression naps bc his beloved Shane is so far away from him. Wakes up at midnight and remembers Fridge Gift?

Finds the different pickles labeled with what they are and what he used in the brine.

Stands there with the fridge open long enough that it yells at him that it’s still open and scares the shit outta him.

Shane who drives to Ottawa after his roadie to spend his day off with Ilya.

Ilya who greets him with “pickles????”

Shane who is taking off his shoes and hanging up his coat explaining that he figured if Ilya missed them he could make more.

please that man is a harlot (affectionate) he needs it so bad...

"Shane! Disgusting pizza is here!" Ilya called from the bedroom, obviously having received a call from the delivery driver on his phone.

"It's not disgusting," Shane yelled back from his spot on the couch, furrowing his eyebrows. "Cauliflower crust and dairy-free cheese is just-"

"Just get door before driver throws up from smell!" Ilya interrupted, his tone amused. "Wallet is on table, and don't you dare use your own money or I will score extra goal tomorrow!"

Unable to stop himself from smiling a little, Shane stood, grabbing Ilya's expensive-looking wallet from the table and opening it to fish out a few bills. He greeted the delivery driver quickly, avoiding small talk, and traded the money in his hand for his pizza without any issue. It was only once he closed the door again, looking down to put Ilya's wallet away, that he saw it-something colorful and vaguely familiar stuffed in one of the back slots.

Slowly, he placed the pizza box down on the table to get a better look. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he knew that he shouldn't be snooping. But at this point in their relationship, they'd shared so much, been through so much, that Shane didn't really balk at the idea. So his fingers slid the piece of cardstock from the slot, his stomach flipping as he realized what it was. 

A hockey trading card. He'd have recognized it anywhere. Hell, he'd obsessively collected them when he was young, carefully placing them in binders and protective cases, going to carshops to get the rarer prints he coveted. The telltale matte-shine and the stats on the back brought him a sense of nostalgia, but he still held his breath when he flipped the card to see the image on the front. What card could Ilya find important enough to keep with him at all times? The first printing of his rookie card? An idol he'd looked up to as a child?

He nearly dropped the small rectangle when he saw.

It was a rivals card. Their rivals card, a limited print that had been created early on in their careers. The two of their pictures had been edited to face each other like they were actually vying for the puck, though Shane knew it had been done through photoshop. But still, there they were. Together. In Ilya's wallet.

"The other guys have pictures of partners in their wallets." Ilya's soft voice behind him made him jump, and he turned to see his boyfriend standing there with a small, nervous smile on his face. "It was...nice. I wanted to have, too, but you know. I could...not."

So much said in so few words. They didn't even have pictures together, so even if Ilya could have an image of them together in his wallet, it would have been impossible. But how could he keep a picture of Shane there, when all that they had was clandestine?

"So...you keep this instead?" Shane murmured, holding up the card.

"Yes. For good luck. I look at your face, remember to play like I am playing against you. Is better than nothing, you know?" Ilya said with a smile and shrug, like he wasn't saying the most romantic thing in the world.

"Want want one, too," Shane breathed, already thinking about the slot in his wallet he would put it in. "Where did you get it from?"

Ilya lit up. "Do not worry. I have ten of them," he said, grinning.

Shane let out a laugh of shock. "Ten? Wow, Rozanov. Be careful, or I might think you're obsessed."