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It’s 7 pm. The puck drops in Detroit. Shane Hollander wins the face-off for Montreal.
And Ilya Rozanov isn’t watching a single second of it.
Instead, he is laying on his bed (no, their bed, fucking shit brain) feeling paralyzed as he stares at the ceiling.
The self-imposed paralysis makes him feel empty. It makes him angry.
He wishes Shane were here so badly that his bones ache.
He can’t watch the game because he is angry at Shane for playing it. Despite the fact both of them have wanted nothing more than to be the greatest hockey players in the world since they were 17 years old (for Shane definitely even longer). Despite the fact that they came up with this plan to keep playing as hard as they can together, and Ilya hasn’t quite found the words to tell Shane that maybe he would like the plan to change.
Deep down, his heart knows his mind is just being cruel to him. He knows it in every part of his soul.
But he feels the sadness anyway. Just like his mother before him felt despair despite the sky being blue, despite having two healthy sons (she didn’t get to see the many ways they would fuck up along the way), despite Ilya dedicating every shot to her from the first time he stepped out on the ice.
Despite, despite, despite.
Despite the fact that sometimes the fear that he is too much of his mother’s son creeps up his spine and won’t leave him alone, like an unwanted houseguest taking up residence in his mind until it decides to leave, not when Ilya tells it to.
He turns his head to the side and sees a small black notebook on Shane’s nightstand and the smallest of smiles shows up for a moment.
Proof.
Proof that Shane exists here with him, even when he’s not physically here. And Ilya knows things about him, things that not even the most rabid hockey fan might not even know.
For example, the notebook.
Shane is so analog about a lot of things and Ilya loves that about him. The boring is only ever said with affection, and all Ilya has ever wanted since he met him is to be bored by Shane Hollander.
Nevermind the irony that there has hardly ever been a moment when Shane hasn’t completely enraptured him.
Ilya reaches over to the book, and he knows he shouldn’t be snooping, but he’s hoping to find something, anything, that will help him feel closer to Shane in this moment when he feels so completely alone.
Unfortunately for him, the book is a food diary and most of it is just Shane’s messy scrawl counting calories and tracking workouts, and it does make Ilya feel a little lighter (his boring boyfriend), but he still feels like there’s a disconnect, like he still can’t quite reach him.
And then a post-it note flutters out from the back of the notebook, slightly folded and worn, like it’s years old, as opposed to the newer notes about Shane’s diet. It lands softly, but thumps like a stone when Ilya reads the phone number and woman’s name written there.
Call me! -Rose
Years ago, he would’ve been positively seething with rage at this discovery. Leaving voicemail after voicemail for Shane to see after his game, wondering why he was keeping mementos of her, when again, his rational brain knew that, more than likely, millionaire hockey player Shane Hollander probably didn’t see the sense in buying a whole new notebook for his food diary when the one he’d had for years, all bent and creased at the corners, still had plenty of blank pages.
But now, Ilya likes to think he has a better picture of Rose. How she helped Shane come to terms with his identity. How she inadvertently sent him back to Ilya, confident and brave, even when Ilya himself didn’t necessarily feel that way.
So he dials the number before his brain can catch up to his fingers. Nothing is going to happen anyway, this number has to be years old, and famous people change their numbers all the time, and…
“Hello?”
She sounds confused, but not unkind. Ilya thinks he should just say “sorry, wrong number!” but who the fuck has dialed a wrong number since they got a smartphone? So with all the confidence and swagger of the Ilya Rozanov, he responds:
“Uh. Hi.”
She laughs a little, mostly sounding nervous. “Ilya?”
It takes him a moment to realize there’s no reason she should have his number, and he’s barely said anything. He’s also continuing to say nothing, so she follows up with: “Is Shane okay? Oh my god, of course he is, he’s literally playing on my tv right now, I’m an idiot.”
She’s talking about herself, but Ilya wants to say me too, okay bye! But her rambling is warm and sweet, and he is going to take this to his grave before telling Shane, but he understands why his boyfriend was drawn in by her.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, and then just decides to be honest. “I don’t know how to explain.”
“Well, are you okay?” she asks gently.
Ilya sits up quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest, feeling small in the middle of their too big bed. It’s been so long since he’s had a soothing female voice ask him how he truly is, and he misses it.
But, no. This is too weird. This is Shane’s ex. A girl that used to make him see red, he can’t possibly…
“I feel…alone,” he admits quietly, surprising even himself.
Ilya can hear her hum sympathetically and it sounds like she is getting comfortable on her end of the line as well.
“Were you watching the game?”
“Trying, but…”
“You miss him.”
This conversation is so stupid, he thinks to himself, a grown man, practically crying to his boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend about how he misses him when they see each other as much as they possibly can. When they spent years only stealing hours or afternoons, and they had to make that be enough.
Now, Ilya feels like there is never enough.
The silence acts as confirmation enough to her statement, Ilya thinks, so he asks another question.
“How did you know it was me? Did you have my number?”
“Yeah, you didn’t have mine?” she says with a laugh, and Ilya knows she knows his feelings about her.
Well, the feelings from back then anyway.
“Shane gave it to me, just in case. Like, an emergency contact type thing. Never thought I would use it, but I’m glad he did!”
“I am glad too,” Ilya murmurs quietly, and then a little louder, “but please, do not tell him this.”
She laughs again, “I promise. Can I ask you something?”
Now it’s Ilya’s turn to laugh, shallow and shaky. “Can I get a cigarette first?”
“Asking me to keep a lot of secrets, Rozanov,” she teases, and Ilya wonders why they haven’t done this before.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror across from their bed as he moves toward his nightstand, where his emergency pack of cigarettes is (probably not-so) stealthily hidden.
Ah. There’s why.
He makes his way outside and he doesn’t feel rushed or judged by Rose, doesn’t feel like there’s anything he needs to say to fill in the silence. He can hear the Montreal game in the background of the call on her end and it almost makes him feel like Shane is here too.
And he remembers the reason for the call as the lighter clicks.
“My mother,” he begins, bringing the cigarette to his lips and exhaling shakily, “she had…she was…”
“Depression?” Rose offers, and Ilya knows she doesn’t mean anything by the guess, simply offering to fill in the blanks so he doesn’t have to. He nods, and then realizing she can’t see him, supplies a simple “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Ilya,” she responds sadly, “That must have been really hard, especially growing up.”
She doesn’t have to continue the statement: growing up in Russia, growing up and discovering he was queer, growing up as a stranger in a strange land. And she doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t say “but you made it out, you’re here!”
He clears his throat, stubbing out his cigarette in the empty Coke can he brought with him to easily dispose of the evidence. He should really quit. For himself, for Shane, for their future.
But maybe not now.
“Did Shane tell you about…” and he hopes she understands because he doesn’t know if he can get through the whole question. Not tonight.
“He did.” She affirms him, but once again, doesn’t try to fix anything. There is nothing to fix, hasn’t been for years. Hasn’t been since he thought she was sleeping and he was so, so wrong.
“Ilya?” She says it quietly, like she doesn’t want to shatter this quiet trust they’ve built like a miracle. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t shut her down either, so she continues.
“When Shane goes away, do you worry you have nothing?”
The question takes his breath away, and he does not want to cry on the phone with this woman he barely knows, especially when what he does know is information he is still trying to actively force himself to forget.
“Sometimes, yes. Not always, but…nights like this.” He sighs again, and one tear falls and then two.
“Well.” She sounds matter-of-fact, not cold, but commanding. A voice that says listen, and Ilya is hanging on every word.
“Shane Hollander does a hell of a job looking laser focused on TV. But when it’s just the two of you, and it’s you he’s supposed to be focused on, but you know there’s something he’s actually focused on, he’s a million miles away.”
“Blech, I do not want to speak about this,” Ilya responds like a petulant child and this makes Rose bark out a laugh.
“Please, as if you didn’t know he was strictly dickly that whole time.”
Ilya can feel his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, and it stops the tears immediately.
“What is this word?? This ‘strictly dickly’? Tell me what this means!”
Rose is laughing so hard that Ilya is worried she may hang up and he will never get his answer. But her laughter does distract him and ease his anxiety just slightly so he allows it.
“It just means gay, Ilya. Like only enjoys…”
“Ahh.” The understanding dawns on him. “Yes, I thought very early it was only the dick for Shane.”
“You and me both,” she says faux-glumly and they both laugh this time. After they both calm down, the quiet settles over the conversation once again. Ilya has made his way into the house, turning the game on just in time to see Shane score, putting the Metros up 3-2.
Ilya smiles warmly as Shane celebrates with his team and then full on grins when Shane looks down the barrel of the nearest camera, making a tiny heart with 2 of his fingers. Ilya has the tv on low, but he hears the announcer say, “Hollander always finding a way to shoutout the fans who love him.”
“Especially his biggest fan,” Rose teases, and abruptly, Ilya hits the mute button, leaving the game on in the background, but turning his attention back to the conversation.
“I was very angry with you, Rose Landry.”
She hums, “I know.”
“It was not fair.”
“Ancient history, babe.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “You make him happy. That’s all that matters.”
“He makes me the happiest. Despite…”
Despite the reason for this phone call. Despite the fact that his mother tried her best to pretend she was happy with his father until she couldn’t anymore. Despite feeling a loneliness in his bones even though he has everything he never thought to even dream of.
Despite, despite, despite.
“He loves you because of who you are. He loves you because you are brave. He loves you because someday the whole world will know, and I promise you Ilya, he can’t wait for that day.”
Because of. Ilya has never thought of it like that, but now he can’t think of it any other way.
“Because of you, Rose Landry, I have hope.”
She huffs out an incredulous laugh. “I’m gonna call you more often, Ilya Rozanov.”
“Yes, not just emergency contact.”
They both smile, and say their goodbyes. Ilya watches the last couple of minutes of the game count down, the Metros holding on to their lead. He watches as Shane gives the same boring answers to the same boring questions in the post game presser and his heart longs, but also feels settled.
Because of Shane. Because of them. Because of a forever he knows he’s already earned.
By the time Shane is in his hotel room for the night, Ilya is back in their bed, blinds open so that the moonlight streams into the place where the other half of his heart should be. Will be again soon.
His phone rings.
“Did you see?” Shane asks excitedly, and Ilya loves how his boyfriend is always so eager, whether it’s in bed or on the ice.
“See? I am very busy man, Hollander, was there something I should see?”
“Fuck off.” Shane laughs and Ilya hears the squeak of the hotel bed as he relaxes back on to it.
“Just felt like I was missing you extra hard tonight, I don’t know. Is that stupid?”
“Not stupid.” Ilya breathes out fondly. “I should be the one asking you if I am stupid.”
“Oh fuck, what did you do?” Shane is trying to come off teasing, but both of them know he has noticed the change in Ilya lately. He has asked, they have fought about it. He wants to know what Ilya means, but he is scared to push.
“I maybe find your boring book full of ‘today I eat one carrot and no cookies. I run 6 kilo and fuck my hot boyfriend for 2 hours.’”
“Oh my god, I wouldn’t write that down, you asshole,” he snaps before realizing he’s getting mad about the wrong thing. “Wait a minute, why were you going through my things??”
“Most of it very boring, not surprise.” Ilya can practically hear Shane’s eyeroll from here. “But I did find a phone number from a former lover.”
Shane doesn’t have many former lovers, so it doesn’t take long for him to say, “You found Rose’s number? And you said you did something stupid…please tell me you didn’t tweet it or some shit.”
Ilya hums, “Don’t worry. I did call her, but we mostly just talked about how bad at sex you are.”
“So it was mostly her talking then. Because I don’t think I’ve ever heard a complaint from you.”
“Couldn’t get her to shut up quite frankly.”
“All right,” Shane groans, and then he is quiet for a few moments before he wonders aloud. “Are you fucking with me or did you actually talk to her?”
“I did. She is…not what I expect.”
“You mean not what you had in your head?”
“Yes, that. She is nice to me. Much nicer than you, Mr. Steal-the-Rozanov.”
“Improved, I think you mean.”
“Maybe I call her back, she does not abuse me in this way.”
“You do that. I hope you two have a wonderful life together.”
Ilya sighs dramatically, “I would, but I am ah, how did she put it? Strictly dickly now.”
Ilya can hear Shane practically spitting his water across his hotel room. He coughs, gasping for breath, but eventually comes back to the phone.
“Okay, first of all, the fact that this was basically your first real conversation with her and that’s what you learned is insane. Secondly, just because you’re in a relationship with someone with a dick, it doesn’t mean you’re…not bisexual. Third, please, for the love of god, don’t ever say that again, Ilya, I almost choked to death.”
“You did say you missed me.” Ilya responds and Shane can practically hear his proud smirk from here as he chirps back, “Pervert.”
Their small laughs settle into a comfortable silence for a few moments before Ilya starts again.
“Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“I told her…sometimes I miss you so much it feels like I will never feel better.”
“Oh, Ilya. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I worry when you leave, you will not come back. You will realize your life could be better without me. Or you will get scared again.” He pauses, breath shaky. “I am sorry, I know this is not fair.”
“Do you think…” It’s Shane’s turn to pause. He has broached this with Ilya before and it hasn’t gone particularly well, but he thinks tonight could be different. He has to try.
“Do you think maybe you should talk about this with someone?”
“I have therapist, perhaps you know her, star of X-Squad, Rose Landry?”
They both laugh, which releases some of the tension before Ilya speaks again.
“I have thought of this, yes. You will not think…?”
Ilya can’t bring himself to say it: that I am weak? That I am less? That I am not worthy of you?
“I will love you as much as the day I met you,” Shane replies warmly, and okay, Ilya has to be an asshole now or he will start crying.
“So obsessed with me, Hollander.” He tries to sound cocky, play the part of the Lothario he used to be, but his long yawn betrays him and he can hear Shane chuckling at him.
“Well, your ego definitely sounds like it could use some rest.” Shane teases but he is fond as he follows it up with: “I can’t wait to see you.”
“So soon, moy lyubimyy.”
“Yeah,” Shane murmurs with a grin as he hears Ilya’s breathing even out, “So soon.”
12:02 am
Shane: I don’t know what you said to him, but I feel like I should thank you?
Rose: Nah. Just get home to him.
12:13 am
Shane: Do you think we’re going to be okay?
Rose: I think you’re both afraid to burden each other. Stop that shit.
Shane huffs out a laugh before taking off his glasses and turning off the light in his room. He needs some sleep, he’s heading to Ottawa in the morning.
But first he responds.
12:16 am
Shane: Yes ma’am 🫡
When Ilya wakes up, hand gently resting on the pillow where Shane would lay his head when he’s there, his phone vibrates once with a new message.
Unknown number: Wake up, Rozanov. You’re gonna get laid soon.
He smiles and saves the contact.