Chapter Text
Shane’s on the road again when the next person comes.
Yekaterina Mikhaylova is only a few years older than Shane, and, unlike Lyudmila, is able to get on a video call with him so they can meet.
Shane sits at the desk in the hotel room, hoping Hayden stays out of view, and tries to put himself in the mindset of a good landlord.
It’s easy with Lyudmila, who makes him come over to her house now and then to eat. He doesn't feel so bad about leaving her, either, since she often invites her grandkids over now that Shane’s said that’s okay. (He still can’t believe she felt like she had to ask—he’d had to figure out a more polite way of saying I’d be a pretty shitty person if I said no.)
Yekaterina is a different story. She’s not awkward like him, moving through the conversation with ease. She says, “Call me Katia, please,” and “The elevator is a little gross, but it works,” and “Yes, Mrs. Kuznetsova came to meet me too.”
Shane doesn't really know what he's supposed to be looking for. All he wants is to give people somewhere to stay, and have his apartments stay in okay condition. Katia doesn't seem like someone who'd throw a rager and tear up the carpets, but what does he know?
She's got a better idea of how this should go, and tells him in bare details about her renting history. After she's done, to Shane it seems like everything is perfect.
The only hiccup is that she has a pet.
“I read the contract,” she says, pulling out papers. Her accent is barely noticeable, kind of like Svetlana’s. “It wasn’t clear. Do I need your approval or are they not allowed at all?”
The thing is, Shane didn’t really want pets in the building. He’s never had one, and in his mind they’re all stinky or messy or way too much work. Even fish, like what if the tank fell? He would have to deal with flooding and the fish would die. Awful. It seemed easier to say no pets, but his agent said it’s best to make renters pay a fee. It discourages pet owners from applying, but if they do, then they’re on the hook for any big damage like that.
Shane still doesn’t care about the money. He just wants to avoid scratched walls and peed-on carpets and freak-accident fish tank droppings.
Katia has a hamster named Cheddar. She explains that she has a large cage for him, and she cleans it every day as necessary, so it doesn’t stink.
Cheddar squeaks at Shane when she holds him up to the camera.
“Uh, yeah, sure, that’s fine,” he says, because how can he say no to that little ball of fur? “The fee—”
A complicated look crosses her face. “Ah, yes. I will get it paid as soon as I can, Mr. Hollander.”
He pauses. “Will it be a problem?”
“No, no,” she says, but her expression is pinched now. “I will have enough for the down payment and first month’s rent. I can cover it all.”
Shane’s not great at reading between the lines, but he’s trying. He’s trying to be good to these people. The fee isn’t big to him, but what does he know about having a normal job and normal bills?
He tells her, “Don’t worry about it until next month, okay?”
Katia doesn’t outright say thank you or anything like that. She only says, “Okay, Mr. Hollander. I will get it to you as soon as possible.”
It’s weird, having a woman his age call him that so formally. Not even reporters call him that, at least not the ones he's known for years.
“Call me Shane. And really, it’s okay. You have my number, right? Call me if anything’s wrong or if you have any questions.”
She nods, and they hang up, satisfied that this will work out too.
Katia doesn’t call, but Lyudmila does.
Shane’s laying in Ilya’s bed, in his arms actually, and was—keyword, was, past tense—feeling very content before she called and started scolding him.
“What is this, Katusha can call you Shane but you have not offered this to me?”
He’s extremely glad that Lyudmila doesn’t do video calls, because she'd catch them out right away. Even then, he still has to nearly smother Ilya with a pillow to make sure she doesn’t hear him laughing. Not that Shane can be too mad. The sight of Ilya's grin is not something he takes for granted, ever.
“I’m-I’m sorry, Mrs. Kuznetsova—okay, Lyudmila, I’m sorry, of course you can call me Shane, too. I didn’t think about it.”
“No you didn’t,” she repeats, offended. He thinks if he was there, she would hit him again. He's long since accepted it as part of having her as a tenant. “You use all your thoughts on hockey.”
He’s also found it’s easiest to just agree with whatever she says. So he obediently replies, “I do.”
She hums. “I am angry with you.”
“Is something wrong?” He means with the apartment, because she can’t really be upset that he didn’t let her call him Shane, right? But she must take it a different way, because her answer surprises the hell out of him.
“Yes,” she says seriously. “You embarrassed Russia tonight.”
Shane blinks. “Huh?”
Ilya almost bursts a blood vessel laughing, though Shane doesn’t know if it’s because he heard her—she’s very loud on the phone—or at whatever face he made in response.
“But Mrs—Lyudmila, I’m not Russian,” he tries, because what the hell else is he supposed to say to that.
“Pah, of course no! I mean Rozanov! How can sweet Canadian man beat him? I am ashamed, ashamed! On behalf of Russia.”
Shane has to get up out of the bed before Ilya gives them away, escaping to the hallway and grinning at the sound of his boyfriend’s giggles. Then he asks, surprised, “You were watching?”
She sounds even more offended at this. “You think I don’t watch? I invited Katusha as well, but she says she is busy. Well, I am not too busy.”
For some reason, Shane’s chest feels warm. He leans against the wall and says, knowing it'll rile her up even worse, “Bet you wished you missed it when I crushed Rozanov, though.”
She hisses like a cat at him for that.
He’s stuck listening to her scold him for the next thirty minutes before Ilya gets too impatient, and he has to make excuses to get off the phone before Ilya actually steals it from him and hangs up on her.
Shane doesn't intend to hide that Katia moved in. He tells Ilya he's got a new tenant, a younger woman, and Ilya teases him about how he's going to be the best landlord to ever landlord. All of the ladies will flock to his sex dungeon building, and flirt with Shane to get out of paying rent, which is stupid—Shane would never—”And you’re too gay,” Ilya helpfully adds to which Shane has to say, “Fuck off, you’re so annoying.”
“You speak so sweet to me, Hollander,” Ilya says, leaning in for a kiss.
They get distracted. Shane doesn't think to tell Ilya her name, even though he does think it's funny and a little weird that he now has two Russian tenants. He does remember to tell him about Cheddar, though.
Ilya looks at the picture Katia's sent of the spoiled hamster—seriously, Katia told him the toy he's got in the picture was worth $50 USD—with some fondness. Handing the phone back over, he says, “Dogs are better.”
“Dogs are not better,” Shane says without thinking. He just likes to disagree—he doesn't have a strong opinion really.
Ilya raises an eyebrow judgmentally. “You want little hamster then?”
“No.” He makes a face thinking about the kind of maintenance that cage would need. Yeah, he hires cleaning people, so hypothetically they would do it and not him.
But still. So much effort, when he has so little time.
It devolves from there. Ilya says he's met a hamster before, and it was spoiled too and tried to bite him, so he's sworn them off forever even if they are cute.
“Cheddar is cute,” Shane defends.
It's less about the actual animal at this point, and more about riling Ilya up. It’s so fun to see him get annoyed, shifting in bed with his jaw jumping and relaxing as he tries to be normal.
“You haven't even met Cheddar,” his boyfriend grumbles. “We could be fucking now, but you want to talk about a stupid hamster.”
Shane can't help but laugh. Climbing into Ilya's lap, he leans in, rubbing his nose along the tendon in Ilya's neck. Bodies sinking together, Ilya relaxes, probably thinking Shane’s given up.
He'd like that, wouldn't he.
“I'm gonna meet Cheddar and prove you wrong,” Shane whispers into his ear before nipping it playfully.
For a second, Ilya doesn't react. Shane has just enough time to wonder if he's acting weird, if this is what’ll finally put Ilya off after all their years together, before his boyfriend is wrapping his arms tightly around him and rolling them around, loudly complaining about how Shane is an asshole.
And okay, maybe he is, but he's also really happy. Their conversation fades into the haze of kissing, and maybe Ilya forgets about it by morning.
Shane doesn't.
Back in Montreal, he goes by the building to meet Katia in person. She's all settled in, having had no problems with the new movers.
They're of a height, is the first thing he notices. She's conventionally attractive, with long blonde hair and classically Slavic features. At first, her expression is cold, but it thaws when Shane asks how things have gone.
“I'm doing well but it's a bit overwhelming,” she says directly, which he appreciates, and they stand around talking for a while.
Apparently she's got a thousand boxes and triple the amount of stuff, and it was all kind of packed haphazardly because she was moving across the border in a bit of a rush, so she can't find anything. When he asks, she explains: she's got dual citizenship with Canada and Russia, and was on a work visa in the States until she was suddenly fired. It's a whole mess, she says she doesn't want to get into it, and it's all taken care of anyway. She looks tired even just thinking about it, so Shane doesn't push.
The whole time, he listens, though part of his brain focuses less on her and more on the implications for Ilya's own citizenship.
Thinking of Ilya reminds him of Cheddar.
Shane waits until he's sure she’s done talking before he asks, “Can I meet Cheddar?”
Some of the stress melts away from Katia’s shoulders. Pride gleams in her eyes as she says, “Yes, come with me.”
He steps into her apartment lightly, not wanting to touch any of her stuff. It’s different with Lyudmila, who complains when he “sits wrong” on her couch and won’t put his feet up.
He and Katia only just met. Plus, he feels really aware that he’s her landlord right now—there are so many horror stories of creepy guys abusing their power over female tenants that it made Shane sick when he read them.
Katia doesn’t say anything about it either way, and he can’t see her face to even try to read what she’s feeling. (Not that he's any good at it, but he tries.)
She just takes him to the far corner of the living room, where the largest cage Shane’s ever seen sits. Not that he has a lot to go off of, but it fills the space, tall enough to reach the window and leaving almost no walking path.
Smiling, Katia kneels down beside it, searching for a second before she finds Cheddar by an upside down water bottle, standing on his back paws to suck water down. He looks bigger in real life than in the picture she sent.
“This is my boy,” Katia says proudly, reaching a finger or two in to pet him. He obviously likes it, letting go to squeak at her in a way Shane—who has no idea, really—thinks is probably adoring.
“He’s so cute,” Shane says, crouching beside her. His lips are curled up. Maybe hamsters aren't so bad. “Can I pet him too?”
“Oh no,” Katia says right away, looking up at him with slightly wide eyes. “He bites.”
(Later, when Shane relays all of this to Ilya, Ilya says, “Fucking told you so,” and then, because one of his teammates overheard, gleefully explains that he just won a bet against Shane Hollander. Since they're friends now, and people can know they speak to each other at all.
He should be annoyed, and maybe he is. But it's also really nice to not have to completely hide.)
Shane's at a game when Katia calls.
He doesn't see it until they're back in the locker room, high on the adrenaline rush of a won game. He manages to wait to check his phone until he gets his gross gear off, hoping there will be a text from Ilya.
There is, of course, but there's also a missed call.
He doesn't usually get calls during games, because everyone in his life knows he'll be unavailable and there's no point. So he's both surprised and not to see that it's from Katia.
One missed call from almost forty minutes ago, followed up by a few texts.
Katia (Tenant, 203)
Hello Shane, sorry to bother you so late. Can you call me back?
Ah. Mrs. Kuznetsova told me you are at a game.
I have a leak in my kitchen sink. I looked at it but I can't figure out what's causing the leak. Do you mind coming to fix it? Whenever you have time. Thank you.
A tingle of—not anxiety, really, but something similar—goes through Shane. He feels wired, knowing there's a problem and someone is relying on him to fix it. His tenant, no less.
Quickly, he texts back, Just got off the ice. I'll stop by as soon as I can.
Ilya has texted, too. Shane guiltily decides to wait to reply until he's cleaned up, dressed, and in his car. Traffic is terrible, so a normally twenty minute drive turns into an hour and a half. They talk the whole time.
“You should come here after,” Ilya suggests once he’s close to the apartment building. “Has been too long.”
They only saw each other a week ago, but Shane doesn’t tease him about it. It has been too long.
“You know I can’t, baby. I wish I could, but we fly to Texas tomorrow.”
Ilya blows a raspberry, but there’s really nothing else to say. For a few minutes, neither of them speak, just listening to the other breathe.
Finally, when Shane pulls up and parks his car, he says, “I’ve got to go.”
They promise to call again later, once Shane is done here, and hang up. Shane knocks his head into the steering wheel a few times, wishing for a teleporter or a different life or some fucking bravery. Then he forces himself to sit straight and get out of the car.
Upstairs, both of his tenants have added a few decorations to the hall. Lyudmila has set out a light, comfortable-looking chair, while Katia has a new doormat that says in fancy lettering, Home of the Crazy Hamster Lady.
Sure, why not.
He knocks, already pulling his phone out to find some kind of plumber that’s still working at—he winces—almost ten at night. Maybe he can fix it himself? Shane’s not really handy, but there’s been a few times that his dad showed him how to fix things, to ‘get his mind off of hockey for once’. It didn’t really stick, but he has to fix this for her.
Katia, when she opens the door, is already dressed for bed. She’s wearing loose shorts and a big t-shirt with no bra on underneath. Shane keeps his eyes pointed over her shoulder, unable to meet her eyes and trying very hard to avoid making her uncomfortable.
“Hey, I’m so sorry I got here so late, the traffic was awful,” he rushes out. “Do you still want me to check it tonight? I can wait until morning—or, not really, I have a flight at six AM, but I can get a plumber out here as soon as possible if you’d prefer that.”
Katia blinks at him, then—he notices out of the corner of his eye—gives him a confused once over.
“You’re dressed very fancy,” she half-asks, half-says.
Oh, right. Shane’s in his post game suit. “Um, yeah. It’s, I have to, it’s a thing… I can go upstairs and get changed?”
“Yes, why don’t you do that. That’s a very nice suit, I don’t want the sink to ruin it.”
Shane nods and says, “Good point. Okay, I’ll be right back,” and goes to take the stairs two at a time.
He comes back a few minutes later, dressed in more comfortable clothing and with an extra layer of deodorant put on. Katia nods approvingly and lets him in, showing him what happened and what she tried to do to fix it already.
Shane tries his best. He knows you tighten up the joints, or whatever. But that doesn’t work, and when he has Katia try trickling the water, it does in fact get all over Shane’s shirt.
Sighing, he pulls himself out from under the sink and tries to think. His dad might still be awake, but…
“Katia? Is it okay if I call my dad?”
From where she’s leaning against the counter, sipping a tea she made and offered to share with him, she says, “Yes, why would that not be okay?”
“Well, it might be easier if I do a video call, so he can see… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he tells her.
“Is fine, I don’t care.”
Still, Shane resolves not to let his dad see too much of her place. All that matters is the sink.
Thankfully, Dad is still awake and willing to offer his expertise. (Okay so, he’s only fixed their sinks a few times, really. He doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but he has dad energies that always seem to make things work right. Shane is not ashamed to capitalize on that for Katia’s sake.)
So that’s how Shane and his father end up fixing a leaky pipe at 10:45 PM the night before Shane has an early flight.
“Is it leaking?” Katia asks from above him, the water rushing and muffling her slightly.
Shane watches carefully, but no, everything’s staying dry. It feels like just as much of a win as the game earlier.
“Thank you so much,” she says once he’s standing again. She looks tired, but her smile is genuine. “I got worried I broke it forever and you would evict me.”
“What? No, my dad said it was because one of the pieces was made wrong. and I wouldn’t do that.”
He shakes his head at even the idea. Evicting her because of something like this? She didn’t even flood the place. They only had to put one towel down.
“Look, I have a flight in the morning, but I’m going to get a plumber out here to replace that. What day is good for you? How soon do you need it done?”
They iron out the details, or some of them at least.
Eventually Katia says, “When is your flight?” and when Shane tells her, she says, “Why are you still here? Go home! Sleep! We can figure this out later. Go, go!” and shoos him out and up the stairs.
All of Shane’s things are at his actual apartment, so he doesn’t stay the night there. His schedule’s already fucked, but he cannot go without his regular suitcase.
By the time the Voyageurs get on the flight, he’s dead on his feet, but it’s okay. He’s getting a good grade in landlord.
A few weeks later, he’s got a couple days in town before they’re back on the road, and he intends to spend them at his actual place. There are rooms that need tidying before the cleaning lady comes, and books to read, and boyfriends to have phone sex with.
Lyudmila Kuznetsova, however, has other plans.
Shane has never told her his schedule, but somehow she knows it anyway and uses this knowledge with deadly precision.
He’s at the building double checking one of the big downstairs apartments for a family who’s going to be viewing it soon. The second he steps out into the hall, she’s there at the top of the stairs, her flaming cane waving in his direction.
“I made lunch, come eat,” she says, brooking no argument. Without waiting for him to answer, she goes and knocks on Katia’s door, calling through the wood in Russian he actually sort of understands, “Katusha! Come and eat now!”
He’s been a little worried how Lyudmila and Katia will get along, like what is he supposed to do if his renters hate each other? Reddit doesn’t have a lot of advice about that, which means he’ll have to navigate it blind. Ilya or Rose probably wouldn’t mind helping him figure it out if it came to that.
But thankfully, it seems she’s fallen victim to Lyudmila’s whims too. Crisis averted.
They meet at the top of the stairs, both rolling their eyes. It’s kind of nice to have someone else around who understands that as nice as Lyudmila is, she’s also got an iron fist and expects all ‘young people’ like them to follow along. Not that Shane minds, most of the time. But at least he and Katia can be lightly annoyed about it together.
“She’s on a roll today,” Katia warns him.
“Great. Just what we need,” he says, though it comes out more fond than anything else.
Before she can reply, Lyudmila calls, “Shane! Katusha!”
Jeez, what happened to the quiet little old lady he first met?
Shane lets Katia go ahead, checking his phone—there’s a text from Ilya, confirming he won’t be able to call until late tonight.
Unlike Shane, he doesn’t have a few days off, though tomorrow is a rare day they’re both free. Shane wasn’t going to, but maybe he should drive over there after lunch. Two hours on the road isn’t so bad, even if they’ll only get one day together. It will have to be enough.
“Shane?” Katia asks, appearing in Lyudmila’s doorway. He’s still standing there in the hallway, staring at his phone like an idiot.
“Uh, sorry. I just—I had to check that.” He slides his phone into his pocket, hoping to distract both of them. “What’d she make?”
“Rassolnik.”
Sometimes, Shane thinks as he makes himself move forward, he wishes Ilya could be here. All the time, really, but especially moments like this. He would love homemade rassolnik.
Maybe Shane can bring him some leftovers.
Shane’s in Ottawa again—this time for a game—when his next tenants sign the contract.
It's the little family who viewed the downstairs apartment. They prefer to text, which is fine, because Shane’s head is aching from a rough hit against the glass and he’s really not up to video calling anyone, not even his own parents.
Ilya lays on top of him, too exhausted to tease him about getting a good grade in landlording after a game and a round of mindblowing reunion sex.
Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t text them right now. He would—and he will, in a minute—just enjoy the peace of finally being back in Ilya’s arms.
But this is important to him. He wants them to know they can rely on him.
Their names are Mikhail Orlov and Yuliana Orlova, and they have two kids—Andrei, who’s three, and Inessa, who’s three months.
Yes. More Russians. He wonders if his agent is doing it on purpose or if somehow it's just working out that way. Is that even possible? How many Russians are looking to rent in Montreal right now?
Whatever. He doesn’t have the energy to think about it, just managing to spell all of his texts correctly. I’m not in town right now but I hope we can meet soon. I won’t hover or anything, don’t worry. If you need help with anything at all, you can contact me. Things like that. He’s gotten slightly better about it now that he’s gone through it twice.
He’s talking to Mikhail, who replies shortly with thanks and a reassurance he will call if anything comes up.
Shane lingers on the chat, feeling like he should say something else. But what? They probably don’t want to be bothered with him right now, trying to unpack and also deal with two little kids.
Ilya sighs, his warm breath gusting over Shane’s bare shoulder and sending goosebumps all over his upper body.
Reaching back, he somehow manages to pull Shane’s phone out of his hands, and sets it on the bedside table. Then he grabs Shane’s wrist and pins it above their heads, pressing it into a pillow that smells like Ilya’s shampoo and aftershave and sex.
“No more overthinking, kotenok,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth to the spot on Shane’s neck that makes him melt. “Text tomorrow.”
But—“My phone’s going to die if we don’t plug it in.”
“Is fine, Shane.”
“But Ilya….”
Groaning like he’s being actively killed, Ilya lifts onto his elbows to grab a phone charger and plug the phone in. Shane watches him do it, loving this man more and more every minute. The stretch of his muscles is also really hot, and Shane watches it closely, thinking dreamily about how he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.
He swallows hard when Ilya comes back face-to-face with him. Then Ilya touches his cheek, his freckles, and he leans fully into the small caress.
“Okay?” It sounds more like okei. It’s so cute the way Ilya says it.
“Okay,” Shane repeats, echoing his accent.
Ilya leans down to drop kisses over Shane’s chin, cheek, and eyebrow in quick succession. “Now can we fucking sleep?”
Shane knows they should. Today has been so long, and his head hurts and Ilya was icing his back a while ago, but they see each other so rarely.
It’s nice to actually sleep together, but… it’s just that he misses Ilya all the fucking time. He doesn’t want to waste this.
Staring at Ilya’s mouth, he rubs one of his palms over his boyfriend’s arm, the way Ilya does to him. Touching him just to touch. “We can fuck or we can sleep, but I don’t think I can do both yet. Jeez, Ilya, give me time to practice first—”
“You are horrible,” Ilya complains, rolling them onto their sides so he can kiss Shane within an inch of his life.
“Not all of us are naturals like Ilya fuckin’ Rozanov—” Shane gasps out, grinning.
“I didn’t fuck you well enough,” Ilya decides, pinning him again. In the low light, he’s glowing, shining golden with sweat and joy. “You are still being smart-ass. I need to fix this.”
“Well hurry up then—ah!”