putting roots in my dreamland.

Enter his best friend Troy Barrett.

One day after a shitty practice, Ilya is sitting by the back exit playing with his lighter. He doesn't have a cigarette to light.

Suddenly, Troy parks himself next to him and offers him something small, plastic and cylindrical.

It's bubbles.

Troy got them from a fan a few games ago, they were just sitting in his cubby every since then and he saw people doing it online, so he felt he might as well try it.

And it works.

Now whenever one of them gets stressed they find a quiet spot and start blowing bubbles.

Of course, at some point they get photographed and it turns into a giant meme (imagine something like smoking Ben Affleck, but bubbles).

Yuna goes in the ambulance with Ilya — Shane can't get out of his skates fast enough to run over in time, so he drives a few minutes behind them — and she calls Shane to keep him updated. It's fine, it's all fine, Ilya is already semi conscious and talking to them both. Shane's mind goes to all of the worst places anyway.

They lose service when they get in the elevator, but Yuna still sends out a text message with the room number. Shane speeds faster and then bolts through the hospital.

When he finally sees Ilya, minutes later, already in a blue hospital gown and connected to an IV but conscious and beaming up at him, Shane breaks into tears.

"Don't cry, solnyshko," Ilya says. "Come here," he holds out the hand that's free from the needles and Shane takes it.

"I have something important to ask you," Ilya tells him. It suddenly feels so serious. Shane's heart drops.

"Will you come to my cottage this summer?" Ilya says in a sing-songy voice, using his best Canadian accent. "Don't go to Russia. Come to my house, we'll have so much fun..."

Shane laughs. "You remember that?"

Ilya sighed demonstratively and squinted at the sun dancing across the surface of the water.

“Yes.”

“Did you really?”

Ilya looked up when Shane came to stand at his side, in turn looking down to where Ilya was sitting on the dock, feet dangling in the water.

“Relax, Hollander. Russians do not get sunburn.”

Shane snorted. “And I have the photos on my phone to prove that you’re full of shit, Rozanov.”

Ilya scrunched his face but Shane only raised his eyebrows at him, unimpressed, looking like a very strict boyfriend. It was so hot.

“Yes,” Ilya said finally and raised his hand, drawing a cross over his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yes, made sure to get my dick too. I know you would not forgive me if I couldn’t fuck you because of a sunburn.”

Shane shoved at him with his foot, rolling his eyes but smiling anyway. “You know what I mean, asshole. And I wouldn’t forgive you if you got skin cancer because you refuse to put on sunscreen.”

“I know.” Ilya smiled softly at him. “Which is why I’m best boyfriend and put on sunscreen. Look, I even took it outside with me to reapply later.” He groped around for the bottle of sunscreen to hold it up and waggle it at Shane.

Shane’s eyes went incredibly fond and he smiled softly. He bent down to kiss Ilya, one hand cupping his cheek gently, fingers grazing his ear.

“I am best boyfriend?” Ilya asked when Shane drew back a little. He didn’t even care how blatantly he was fishing.

Shane grinned and dropped into a crosslegged position behind him. “You’re the best boyfriend. Almost.”

“Almost?” He turned to look over his shoulder and Shane laughed, kissed his cheek.

He grabbed the sunscreen and squirted a small amount onto his palm before spreading it on his fingers. Ilya almost jumped when his slick fingers dug into the skin of the shell of his ears.

“M-hm. You forgot your ears,” Shane said, rubbing the sunscreen into the inside of his ear shell, methodically working it in before moving to the outside, too. “Beginner’s mistake.”

Shane finished slathering up his ears and pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s shoulders to pull him back against his chest. “Now you’re perfect.”

Ilya huffed. “I knew you have weird sunscreen kink.”

He felt Shane’s breath of laughter against his shoulder. “No, I’m really into my boyfriend taking care of himself for me.”

Ilya felt himself melt against Shane. He dropped his head back against Shane’s shoulder and blinked up at him, squinting against the sun. Shane was looking at him with so much tenderness, Ilya’s stomach flipped and flipped and flipped.

“I love you.”

He doesn't get much useful advice and soon the guys are arguing about how long you can pursue someone before it starts getting pathetic. Holmberg is at one end of the spectrum at two weeks ("We're rich professional athletes, man, we shouldn't have to try that hard.") and Wyatt Hayes is on the other at three months ("Maybe she likes you but just doesn't want the WAG lifestyle. You need to prove to her that you see her as a person with her own goals separate from yours.")

Then someone notices that Ilya, despite his wealth of experience, hasn't chimed in yet and asks, "What do you think, Cap?"

"Two years."

The entire room goes still.

"What?"

"Two years," Ilya repeats, completely unashamed. "Is not pathetic to go for what you want. Not if you think they're worth it."

In sync, every person in the room turns to look at Shane, who's pretending to fiddle with the laces on his skates, looking pink-faced and vaguely pleased.

Finally, Holmberg turns to the rookie. "Okay, I guess two years is fine if it's Shane Hollander. Is your girl Shane Hollander?"

The poor rookie has no response to that. His girl is, indeed, not literally Shane Hollander.

"Man, gay people move different," LaPointe mutters.