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Shane took a deep, shaky breath and stepped out onto the ice. It was disorienting at first, an adjustment to his longer legs, his more powerful body. Muscle memory carried him through warm-ups, his eyes constantly scanning, sure that one of the jeering fans was going to notice, one of his team-mates, someone.
But no one said a single fucking thing.
How the fuck was he getting away with this?
“Don’t forget to chirp,” had been Ilya’s parting shot to him before hanging up, his voice sounding so weird coming through the phone like that. “It would be weird if I was quiet, like you.”
Shane tried to keep that in mind as he skated up to the face-off, narrowing his eyes at the opposition player. Of course it was Scott Hunter. He made himself smile at Scott in that crooked, antagonistic way Ilya had. “Have a good game, Hunter.”
“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Hunter growled.
He was thankful, suddenly, for how familiar he was with Ilya’s playing style. It was much easier to emulate than he’d expected, and he huffed out a laugh as he slammed Hunter against the boards, a move he normally wouldn’t have dared to try.
Yeah, okay, maybe it was kind of fun to let loose sometimes.
He still got a penalty for it and sat in the box for two minutes, but there was no stress or anxiety. Instead, he leaned forward eagerly, shit-talking Hunter as he skated past, glaring at him.
His team shut down the penalty play and then Shane was back out there, wrestling the puck from the opposition, laughing as he took off down the ice, smacking it over to one of Ilya’s team-mates, who slotted it in the five-hole, right between Eric Bennett’s legs.
“Fucking beautiful, Roz,” Marlow crowed, slamming into his side. The rest of the team descended on him, all patting his head and slapping his back.
At the end of the game, Shane pulled out Ilya’s phone. There were no new messages, so he went to the internet, checking the game.
They’d been playing at the same time, but the Montreal game was in OT against Florida. Shane frowned.
“You’re fucking obsessed, man,” Marlow noted, rolling his eyes as Shane shot a glare at him.
“Fuck off,” he said.
“Whatever,” Marlow said. “Don’t worry about it so much. Hollander’s not gonna beat your record.”
“He might,” Shane said, bristling at the implication that he was worse than Ilya.
“Not against Florida he’s not,” was the response. “Going out tonight?”
He shook his head. He’d pretend to be Ilya on the ice, but he drew the fucking line at going out to a club and hooking up with random girls. Fuck no.
Marlow just sighed. “You’re so boring these days, Rozanov.”
Shane didn’t respond to that, just looking at him mildly until he fucked off. It was effective, the man holding his hands up and backing off.
He looked back down at the phone, frowning. The fuck did that mean?
Whatever, he’d ask Ilya about it later, maybe. For now, he was going to shower and get out of there. They needed to talk and make a plan. He couldn’t do that here surrounded by Ilya’s team-mates.
***
“Good win, tonight, babe,” Rose Landry said, grinning as he approached the table.
Ilya nodded, every muscle tense as he looked between her and her other friends. One of them, Miles, was looking him up and down and whistling appreciatively.
“You look hot, Shane,” Miles said, winking at him. “Damn!”
He and Rose giggled at this, and Ilya slipped into the booth beside Rose, setting his drink down on the table. Ginger ale, of course. Hollander wouldn’t buy himself anything else.
He took a sip as the famous actors continued their conversation, watching them laughing and chatting about work, about other famous people they knew, about who was hooking up with who.
They didn’t seem to pay much attention to Hollander. He was just… there. Weird. Was it because Shane was so emotionally stunted that they were used to him not talking much, or did Rose Landry’s friends just not like him that much?
Either way, it left a sour taste in Ilya’s mouth that wasn’t just the disgusting drink Shane favored.
God, he wanted vodka. He was definitely going to buy a bottle on his way back to Shane’s apartment.
It would piss Hollander off so much. And also, Ilya deserved it for sitting here seething while Shane’s fucking girlfriend and her friends ignored him.
He looked out at the dance floor. So many women and men, dancing, being free, having fun. Instead, here he was. Sitting. Bored.
It just confirmed what he already knew. Shane Hollander was boring, boring man.
He took advantage of the lull in conversation to offer to go and buy the next round, and Rose beamed at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He slunk away to the bar, ordering them all champagne, the expensive kind. He bought himself another stupid Ginger Ale.
As he went to turn back, a possessive, large hand trailed down his back.
“Here,” a deep voice said. “Let me take some of those off your hands.”
Ilya turned, finding Miles smiling down at him.
“I’m fine,” he said stiffly.
“Yeah, you are,” Miles agreed, licking at his lips.
Ilya was abruptly very, very angry. Why the fuck was Rose Landry’s friend hitting on Shane while she was only right over there? Did he have no fucking shame?
Was there something going on here?
He narrowed his eyes. Miles winked at him, his hands sliding up Ilya’s hands to take two of the glasses away. And then he was ushering Ilya to walk in front of him.
When they returned to the table, Rose was looking at him, her brow lightly furrowed. She scooted closer to Ilya, resting a hand on his knee as he sat down.
He fucking hated that. She didn’t get to touch Shane.
None of them did.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
“Fine,” he bit out. “Tired.”
Miles was watching them, looking amused. Ilya couldn’t stand his stupid, pretty face. He’d love to break his knuckles on it. Well, Shane’s knuckles. He looked down at his hand, at the unbroken, flawless skin.
It would be a shame to mark it. It was the only thing that kept the bear in his chest leashed.
Still, Rose kept shooting him concerned looks for the rest of the night. At least he didn’t have to dance with her. The one time she left to go to the dancefloor, she took Miles with her.
He watched them together, at how beautiful they looked out there, dancing and laughing, feeling miserable and mad in equal measure.
***
Shane had fallen asleep waiting for Ilya to call him. It wasn’t his fault. It had been a physical game, and Ilya had told him he was going out with Rose. He’d tried to wait up, but Ilya’s bed was so fucking comfortable that he’d passed out, Ilya’s phone clutched in his hand.
When he woke up, he blearily put it on to charge and then staggered into the kitchen, starting up Ilya’s ridiculously complicated coffee machine.
He felt… weird. It was hard to describe, different from anything he’d experienced before. He was hardwired for movement, for speed, always practically buzzing out of his own skin with the need to improve, to do better, to push himself further.
But right now, he felt slow and sluggish, like gravity was literally dragging him down. He frowned, looking down at Ilya’s scarred hands, wondering why he felt so fucking empty all of a sudden, like the sun was never again going to rise in the sky.
He’d never felt so bleak, so hopeless.
The coffee woke him up slightly, but he still collapsed back on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. He already knew Ilya didn’t have anything on today. He could just… lie here. All day. It didn’t matter.
He glanced at the clock on the oven. It was ten in the morning. Usually, Shane would already have been up, eaten, gone for a run, been on the phone to his mother, probably about to go out to meet up with Hayden.
Instead, he now wanted nothing more than to just sit here and stare at the TV. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to switch it on. He just didn’t… care.
Did llya have depression? Shane wondered. He frowned. Did he even know he had depression? Was there some medication he was meant to be taking? Ilya hadn’t mentioned anything.
He’d had no idea that Ilya was suffering like this. It only made Shane miss him more.
Forcing himself up, he scanned the medicine cabinet in Ilya's bathroom, but there were only some painkillers and half a roll of athletic tape, nothing else. Not even so much as a tube of disinfectant cream or box of band-aids to be seen.
“Russians,” Shane muttered. Fucking psychos, the lot of them. Ilya probably just poured vodka over his wounds and called it a day.
He went back into the bedroom, checking his bedside drawer. But even that was sparse, only the usual box of condoms and lube. And a packet of cigarettes.
Shane threw them in the bin.
He thought about making Ilya a doctor’s appointment. Would that be too intrusive? He’d already looked at Boston’s calendar, and the earliest they’d be able to meet back up was in two weeks. That would be plenty of time to get Ilya in to see someone, get a prescription.
Maybe it might be a bit presumptuous, but by the time Ilya would find out about it, Shane would be back in his own body and hopefully sprinting in the other direction.
Fuck it, he thought. I’m the one living in this body right now.
And he was going to treat Ilya Rozanov’s body like a fucking temple.
***
Ilya knew that Shane was boring and anxious and like, highly-strung, but when his alarm went off in the middle of the fucking night, he felt it.
He was awake and rolling out of bed only moments later, feeling his heart racing as he padded downstairs.
It was fucking obnoxious.
“Five in the morning, Hollander?” he bitched, glaring at the time on the oven.
There was nothing edible in the house, so Ilya downloaded post-mates on Shane’s phone, ordering two breakfast sandwiches. He had no intention of drinking some disgusting green smoothie with a bunch of different leaves in it. He had standards.
After he ate, his restless energy had him pulling on a pair of running shoes, shoving Shane’s keys and phone in his pockets as he locked the front door behind him.
He ran with no particular route in mind, breathing evenly as the city around him slowly came to life.
Okay, maybe this was kind of nice. Quiet. Peaceful.
He was still stewing over the night before. At the bar. He did not understand Shane’s relationship with Landry at all. They hadn’t even kissed when Ilya left. Landry had just smiled at him, letting him know she would be free again the next week.
And Ilya had just nodded, promised to see her again, and left.
By comparison, playing as Hollander had been simple. He’d studied his form for years, and though it had taken him a few moments to adjust to his smaller size, he’d been able to appreciate how fucking quickly Shane could move.
The opposition had felt like traffic cones by comparison, far too slow to stop him, to even keep up with him. It had been exhilarating.
It was a pity his team-mates were also very slow. Pike most of all. He’d tried to chat to Ilya after the game, and he did his best to be friendly, but he wasn’t sure how successfully he’d managed it. Not with how exasperated he was at every time Pike had missed an easy pass.
Hollander was wasted on this team. They would lose every match without him, no question.
Speaking of, Pike was already messaging him about their meet-up for brunch that Shane must have agreed to last week, before this whole mess had started.
Fuck.
Well, at least Pike’s kids were cute. He’d seen them cheering him on at previous matches. He could suffer through one afternoon of hanging out with them.
Hollander owed him big time for this.
***
“And how long have you been feeling this way?” Doctor Smith asked, looking thoughtful.
Shane shrugged. Not because he was evading the question, but because he genuinely didn’t know. Ilya had never given any indication that he was struggling, not to him, anyway.
“Years,” he guessed.
The doctor frowned. “And why have you waited so long to seek help?”
Now it was Shane’s turn to frown. Were doctors even allowed to ask that shit? It seemed pretty counterintuitive. A question like that would likely have sent Ilya running for the hills.
“Is complicated,” he said in Ilya’s accented English. “In Russia, mental health is not discussed.”
That, he was pretty sure, was true.
The doctor accepted this with a nod and turned to type at his computer. Shane had listed all of the symptoms he’d been experiencing for the past few days to the doctor already, and it wasn’t long before he was walking out of the office with a bottle of pills rattling in his pocket, with a printed list of instructions.
Shane taped them to Ilya’s fridge and took the morning dosage, washing it down with a green smoothie.
That errand complete, he headed to the practice rink. He hadn’t heard from Ilya since he’d bitched at him through an entire afternoon at Hayden’s place a few days before. Shane was quietly kind of psyched about the two of them hanging out, even though Hayden had had no idea.
Ilya would be going to his parents' place tonight for dinner before flying with the team to New York, and Shane was strangely excited for it.
His parents would meet Ilya. Ilya would meet them.
It was important. A milestone he’d never thought they’d get, not even in his most distant fantasies.
He wondered how Ilya felt about it.
***
Ilya didn’t knock, just letting himself in. Shane had assured him that this was normal, but he still felt his heart racing in his chest as he stepped quietly down the hallway. He could hear something playing on the radio, the murmur of voices coming from the next room, and he paused at the door, observing them before they could notice him.
This, more than anything he’d experienced so far, made him feel like the imposter he really was.
Love oozed out of every pore of this home. It was in the soft overhead lighting, the pictures and certificates and trophies covering every surface, the way these two people worked around each other in tandem as they cooked, hands brushing and smiles gentle.
His chest ached as he thought of his own childhood home. Of his sweet, beautiful, sad mama. Of his angry, oftentimes violent absent father. Of his piece of shit older brother.
Shane was lucky.
“Shane!” Yuna noticed him first, sweeping him up in a firm hug before he could react, the press of her lips on his cheek fleeting but no less impactful for it. “Why are you just hovering in the doorway?” she asked. “Come in, come in.”
He allowed her to drag him over to the bench, where Shane’s father pulled him into a one-armed hug, still stirring something at the stove.
It smelled incredible.
He sniffed, and Yuna noticed, giving him a knowing look. “I don’t want to hear a word about your diet today, Shane Hollander,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You are going to eat this chicken parmesan or so help me.”
Ilya let out a laugh. It no longer surprised him to hear Shane’s voice instead of his own. He was used to it.
“Alright,” he said, letting the tension ease from his body. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”
Shane’s phone: Chicken parmesan is fucking delicious.
***
Shane had been avoiding Svetlana Vetrova like the plague. They’d both agreed, way back when they’d made their original plan (after they’d both freaked out, of course, and realized they weren’t actually going crazy) that she would be the one to figure them out.
Which was why, after only two minutes of Svetlana having pushed her way past Shane and into Ilya’s house, she had a knife pointed at him, her face enraged.
Mostly, she was yelling in Russian. Shane just stared at her, arms held up, faintly terrified.
Despite his many talents, Shane could not speak Russian. Ilya’s muscle memory was immaculate, but his first language had not translated to Shane, unfortunately.
It was a shame. It would have been cool to try and learn another language.
“Where the fuck is Ilya and who the fuck are you?”
He opened his mouth to respond but she screamed and he took another two big steps back.
“Who are you?” she hissed. “And don’t even try and pretend to be Ilya.”
Shane sighed. “I’m not,” he agreed. “I’m Shane Hollander.”
Slowly, Svetlana lowered the knife. She frowned.
“Hollander? Montreal captain Hollander?”
He smiled weakly. “That’s me.”
Her eyes probed him. She set the knife on the counter. Still within reach, but at least it was no longer pointed at him.
“Prove it.”
***
Ilya’s phone rang. He was about to get on the plane to fucking Minnesota, of all holes in the ground, but picked it up, frowning. Hollander was calling him? Why?
Immediately, rapid Russian swearing and demands came down the line, and Ilya sighed. Svetlana. Of course.
He responded in his own stream of rapid Russian, pinching his brow with Shane’s delicate fingers.
“Ilya?” Svetlana whispered.
“Da, is me,” he said. “Don’t stab Hollander.”
“How did you know she had a knife?” he heard Shane ask in the background.
“She is Russian,” Ilya responded in English, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “You are lucky she did not stab first, question later.”
“Your face is too pretty,” Svetlana said, still speaking in Russian. “It was a close call, though.”
“Dude, did you just speak Russian?”
Ilya groaned. Fuck’s sake.
He turned, finding Hayden Pike looking at him suspiciously.
“Ilya?”
Shane had the phone now. Ilya looked at Pike, sighed and handed him the phone.
“Who is this?” Hayden asked, glaring at Ilya.
“Hayden?” Ilya heard Shane’s response.
“What the fuck is going on?”
***
Svetlana was no longer glaring. The knife was away. But she still made him incredibly, incredibly nervous. They were both sitting on the couch, and her eyes were piercing as she stared at him unblinkingly. He couldn’t read her expression at all.
The conversation with the four of them had been… odd. He had no idea why the two of them had accepted it so easily, but there was no denying facts, really. He was Shane in Ilya’s body.
As soon as they’d accepted it, the two of them had inundated them with questions.
“How did this happen?”
“We don’t know,” Shane had responded.
“What? Are you guys like, friends now? Or something?”
“Or something,” Ilya had said. Shane had pinched the bridge of his nose. Could he have been any more obvious?
“Ah,” Svetlana had said. She had smiled at Shane, suddenly smug, like she’d figured something out. It had made Shane sweat then, he was still freaking out now.
Svetlana was the first one to break the silence. She took a sip from the vodka she’d poured from Ilya’s stash, looking at him over the rim of the glass.
“You are his Jane.”
Shane blanched. “Jane? Uh, nope,” he stammered. “That’s not me. Who’s that?”
She looked amused. “I have never seen Ilya try to lie so unconvincingly before. It is very funny.”
“It’s not a lie,” he insisted.
Svetlana did not look convinced. She actually looked kind of annoyed. “Now I know why he has been like a sad dog recently.”
Shane blinked. Ilya had been sad?
Well, he’d been depressed, obviously. The pills were helping with that, thankfully. But he didn’t think that was what Svetlana had meant.
“What do you mean?”
She scoffed. “Rose Landry,” she said, giving him a pointed look.
He blushed. Oh yes. Her.
***
Hayden sat next to him on the plane, because of course he did.
Ilya sank low in his seat, sulking. He should feel happy that other people knew about him and Shane now, that they could get some help. But while Shane had beautiful and very smart Svetlana to talk to right now, he was stuck with… Hayden Pike. All-round nice guy. Total buffoon.
“So,” Hayden said, dragging out the vowel and glancing at Ilya, an awkward expression on his face.
“Spit it out, Pike,” Ilya grumbled.
“Does this mean, last week when you came over for brunch, that it was Ilya Rozanov letting my twin girls ride him around the backyard like a horse?”
Fuck.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You painted Arthur’s nails,” Hayden said cheerfully, clearly enjoying his pain.
“Slander.”
“You held baby Amber and sang to her when she cried.”
Well, that was below the belt.
“Is a baby,” he said, defending himself.
Hayden smirked.
Fucking Pike.
***
Shane’s phone: I don’t know how you stand Pike actually. He is insufferable.
Shane’s phone: And so slow.
Shane’s phone: Be honest Shane, do you have to make yourself skate slower to pass to him?
Shane’s phone: You do, don’t you.
Shane’s phone: I know how fast you can skate now.
Shane’s phone: Very zippy.
Shane’s phone: Is new word I learned today. When I zipped. And scored hat trick.
Shane’s phone: You’re welcome.
***
Ilya’s phone: Fuck off.
Ilya’s phone: Hayden is my best friend. He’s the best. He is not slow.
Ilya’s phone: Okay, maybe a little slow.
Ilya’s phone: I drop the puck off for him mostly.
Ilya’s phone: Did you see the video yet?
Ilya’s phone: Maybe don’t go on the internet today. Or ever again.
Ilya’s phone: And um. Sorry. I guess.
Ilya’s phone: Bye.
***
Shane saw Ilya’s phone ringing and sighed. Fuck.
He took the ice pack off his knuckles and reached for it.
“Hello?”
“You fought for me?” Ilya sounded delighted. He crooned a bunch of words in Russian and then laughed. “I cannot believe little Shane Hollander, Prince of Hockey, punched someone in a hockey match.”
“Everyone thinks it was you!” Shane protested.
“Does not matter,” Ilya said with a happy sigh. “I will know. I will remember. Even with my face you look like angry kitten. So cute.”
Shane groaned, hiding his face in his sleeve. “Leave me alone,” he complained.
“Never,” was Ilya’s cheerful response.
Well, at least he sounded happy. That was something.
“Go on my social media and share the clip,” Ilya demanded. “Right now.”
“No way,” Shane said, his jaw dropping. “God, you would get fined so much for that.”
“Worth it,” Ilya said. “Do it, or else I will share it from your Instagram instead.”
Shane narrowed his eyes.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Shane sighed. Fuck it. It wasn’t his money.
“What did he even say to piss you off, anyway?” Ilya asked once Shane had done what he’d asked.
Shane flushed.
“Nothing,” he muttered. He was embarrassed about it now. He didn’t want to talk about it.
“Fuck off it was nothing,” Ilya said. “You punched Dallas fucking Kent right in the mouth. Made him bleed. That was not nothing.”
“Maybe I just didn’t like his stupid face,” Shane argued, just to be contrary.
He was getting annoyed. Kent was a fucking piece of shit. He’d deserved the punch and then some.
“Fair,” Ilya agreed. “He is pathetic excuse for a man. Stupid. Bad at hockey. Slow. Ugly.” He paused for a moment, then said, “homophobic.”
Shane sighed.
“Ah. Don’t worry, Hollander. I would have punched him, too.”
***
Ilya had already watched the clip at least a hundred times. It cheered him up, watching Shane fly at Dallas Kent and sock him square in the jaw. He’d spat out a tooth, Ilya was pretty sure. He watched it a few more times to check. Yes, definitely a tooth.
Fantastic. Best day ever.
Maybe that was why he’d agreed to go out with Rose Landry again on his return to Montreal. Shane had a few days off before facing Boston on the weekend. He would have agreed to go out with his girlfriend, Ilya was quite sure of that.
This time, there was no Miles.
Probably a good thing. Ilya was high on the adrenaline of watching Shane defend his honor. He would gladly do the same.
“Shane!” Rose said, waving him down. He nodded and walked over, taking off his jacket before sitting down at the table. She’d invited him to a restaurant this time, and there were already some drinks and a plate of fries in front of her.
“Hello,” he said, offering the beautiful actress a polite smile.
“I hope you don’t mind that I already ordered,” she said to him. “I’m starving. It was a long shoot today.”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” he said. He picked up the menu to keep his hands busy, pretending to look at it. He wasn’t feeling very hungry. Going on a date on behalf of the guy he was in love with tended to put a dampener on his appetite.
“Are you okay?” she asked him. “You seem a bit down. And I know it can’t be because of hockey. I watched your game last night and you were incredible.”
Ilya smiled at that. He’d played well. He was definitely starting to adjust to Shane’s smaller stature and increased speed. It was exhilarating, how zippy he was like this.
No wonder Hollander had beaten him in the speed skate.
“It was a pretty fun game,” he said, deliberately ignoring her question while keeping his eyes on the menu.
“Is this still about Miles the other week?” she asked him. “I know he was coming on a little strong, but you know he thinks you’re cute.”
Ilya frowned. Why did it sound like Rose Landry was trying to set Shane up with her gay actor friend?
He lowered the menu. “Why would I care that Miles thinks I am cute?”
Rose blinked, looking thrown. “I know you said you didn’t want his number, but I thought, you know, seeing as how you’re both gay, that maybe-”
Ilya was floored. Wait. What?
At the dumbfounded look on his face, Rose faltered. “I mean, I know that just because two guys are gay, it doesn’t mean they would automatically be interested in each other, of course. I just… I just want you to be happy, Shane.”
“Yes, well,” Ilya said, not even needing to work to summon Shane’s endearing anxiety. His heart was racing in his chest. “You know.” He gestured between her and Shane’s body. “It’s… weird.”
“Because we’re friends now?” Rose asked, an adorable little frown on her face.
Suddenly, Ilya liked her a whole lot more.
“Yes,” he said. “I could not date one of your friends, Rose. That would be disrespectful.”
She laughed at that. “You know I wouldn’t mind.”
“Sorry,” Ilya shrugged. “It’s just how I feel. Poor Miles will have to find some other pretty, single hockey player to fall in love with.”
Rose laughed again, and Ilya smiled at her, looking back down at the menu. Suddenly, his appetite had returned.
This hockey player was his. He wouldn’t be letting Shane get away from him again.
***
They’d decided to meet up before the game. If there was any chance they could change back before it, it would be infinitely preferable to do it without an audience.
As soon as he’d checked into Ilya’s hotel room, Shane covered his curls in a toque and pulled on a jacket, heading out the door. They’d gotten in late at night, but he knew Ilya would have stayed up to wait for him.
He caught a cab to his home, letting himself in with the code. He took a deep breath, soaking it in.
“That you?” he heard his own voice say from the loungeroom.
“Yep,” he responded, shucking off his jacket and putting it in the closet, before toeing off his shoes. “Did you miss me?”
Ilya stood up as he approached. He looked pleased.
“I’ve missed that face, that’s for sure,” Ilya joked. “Come here, handsome.”
In two quick steps, Shane was in front of Ilya. He looked at him, feeling kind of weird about looking down at himself. Had he always been this short?
Ilya looked up at him, amusement showing on his face.
“You are thinking about how short you are,” he guessed.
“Shut up, no I’m not,” Shane said immediately, scowling at him.
Ilya just laughed. He held a hand up, and Shane pressed his own palm against it.
Light flashed behind his eyes. The world reeled.
Shane blinked rapidly a few times, disoriented.
He looked up. Ilya smiled down at him.
“Thank God,” Shane said, launching himself at him. Ilya laughed as he caught him and then they were kissing, and Ilya was carrying him towards the bedroom.
***
Ilya skated up to Shane Hollander, bending down and looking him in the eye.
He didn’t say a word. No chirping, no insults. He just smiled.
Shane flushed, dropping his eyes to the ice. He looked pleased, though.
Ilya had the prettiest boyfriend in the entire world. But he was still going to fucking destroy him at hockey.
***
Out-takes.
1.
“Why did you not tell me you were not dating Rose Landry anymore?” Ilya demanded after they were both sated, sweat and come still drying on their skin.
Underneath him, Shane squirmed. “It didn’t come up in conversation.”
“She tried to set you up with Miles.”
Shane gaped up at him. “What?”
“He was very handsy,” Ilya said, trying to keep a straight face. “Good kisser, though.”
“Ilya!”
Ilya laughed.
2.
Shane answered the phone on the third ring.
“Hollander.”
He squirmed. So, Ilya had made it home, then.
“Hi,” he said.
“Why do I take anti-depressants now?” Ilya growled.
“Well, you see,” Shane said. “Apparently people with depression take them to help them feel better.”
“Shane,” Ilya sighed.
“Do you not feel better?”
A long silence. Then, “ugh.”
Shane smiled. “Take one every morning. With food. And you have another appointment in two weeks, to see if the dosage needs to be adjusted.”
Ilya muttered something in Russian, but Shane heard the pill bottle rattle as Ilya opened it.
3.
Hayden squinted at him as he walked into the locker room.
“Dude, did it work?”
Shane stared blankly at him. “Did vat vork?” he asked.
Hayden’s face dropped.
He couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing and Hayden groaned, punching his arm.
“Jerk,” he muttered.
“Missed you too, buddy,” Shane said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
4.
Svetlana took one look at him, studied his face carefully and then smiled.
“I liked your Jane,” she said. “Very cute.”
Ilya beamed. “Right?!”