Ilya Rozanov

Shane is silent as he listens to Ilya speak, a small frown on his face. He anxiously picks at a hangnail on his thumb, brows furrowed. He doesn't like seeing Ilya sad. He sure as hell doesn't like seeing him cry. It brings all kinds of awkward and terrible feelings up in him. The fight was stupid. He shouldn't haven't given into his anger, into the mean things that he said. If he had just been the bigger person...

Ilya feels all the tension start to melt away when Shane kisses him. Even if he wanted to stay stubborn, it's physically impossible when he's around him. Shane's an anchor, a safe space, even when they're fighting, Ilya still finds himself craving the comfort of his touch. When the kiss breaks, the tears finally spill over, arms wrapping around Shane and his face burying in his neck. The sobs are raw and ugly, straight from the bottom of his chest.

Truly, Shane doesn't expect Ilya to show up. Why would he? What's the point? He anxiously paces around his room, chewing on his lip, shaking his hands, wondering how he could be so fucking stupid. Then there's a knock. Shane's heart leaps into his throat. He moves and answers the door a little too quickly.

Why is it so fucking hard to look at him? Ilya feels prickly with the tension. He hates how vulnerable he feels. His emotions feel fragile around Shane, like they've been stretched to breaking point, and he can't handle it. Is this the weakness his father has always talked about?

Shane gets pulled out of the game, too. He guesses it's only fair. His pride is wounded. His nose is definitely broken. There's probably going to be a black eye in the morning. And the worst part? The worst part is that he still fucking loves hin despite it. His phone buzzes. Texts from Rose. Missed calls from his mom. He can't bring himself to look at any of them right now.

Ilya's felt numb since the game. He hasn't seen Shane. The only news he hears about him comes from teammates. Talking about how he and Rose had broken up and listening to them questioning how anyone could break up with her. The news before might've sent a spark of excitement through him, but now? Nothing. He's just existing. Hockey and home - That's all he does. He can't even bring himself to find hookups to try and help him forget.

Everything feels like it's moving too fast and too slow at the same time. It must be the adrenaline pumping through him. Ilya's fist makes direct contact and Shane goes down, tasting blood in his mouth, feeling it drip down from his nose. The crowd is going crazy for it. The ultimate rivalry finally coming to blows. If only they knew. God, if only they fucking knew.

"я тебя ненавижу - я тебя ненавижу" Ilya's voice cracks as he roars at Shane, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He hates that his English isn't good enough, hates that he looks weak now because he can't come up with insults good enough to match Shane's. He's pulled off the Montreal captain, spitting blood onto the ice as he's dragged back to the bench. His heart feels like it's aching and he takes a few gasps to try and catch his breath.

Shane typically prides himself on the fact that he doesn't lose his temper that often. Sure, he'll chirp and heckle every now and then, but who doesn't? It's part of the game, but he's never gotten into an actual fight. Leave it to Ilya to change that, as he has most things over the past years.

Ilya barely feels the punch, his focus fixing on the words instead. Do you have anyone that fucking likes you? Or just what you can give them? They rattle around his brain, to the loneliest corners of his mind. If it were any other situation, he would be proud - It's a good insult. It's accurate. His family doesn't like him. Shane doesn't like him. His teammates can barely stand him. The whole fucking arena is booing him as if he's some sort of pantomime villain, attacking their beloved star player. "That is the best you can do? That no-one likes me? You think I don't know that?" He tosses his helmet off, spitting and adjusting his jaw. "Fuck you -" He throws a punch, aiming for the freckles that he'd once so lovingly kissed.

This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. Part of Shane thinks that he saw this coming. He did, after all, leave Ilya in the dust, but if he's being honest, he's been on the brink of wanting to end things with Rose for a couple weeks now. He's not happy. Not really. It's not her fault. She's great, but she's just not Ilya. But that's not the issue right now. Right now, he has to contend with a jealous and angry Rozanov that has nearly taken out half the team.

Moments like this are how Ilya's earned his reputation. He's always battled with a quick temper, but over the years he's managed to keep it somewhat sated. He's starting to realise that perhaps Shane had been an influencing factor in that.

The Montreal captain spots his supposed arch rival right away, wondering how they always end up in the same space. Watching him approach with that stupid smirk on his lips though? Something about this is doing terrible things to his heart-rate and he doesn't really know why. Or maybe he does and doesn't want to admit it.

"Hello Amber -" Ilya's voice softening as he leans in to greet her. He holds his finger out to gently tickle under her chin, grinning as she gurgles up at him. His heart swells. Most people wouldn't expect it from the stoic Russian, but he takes after his mother that way - They both have a natural way with kids. "You are much cuter than your father."