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    It's not the worst thing Cliff's ever done, by far, but he wouldn't exactly say he's proud of it either. It's surprisingly easy to get the number from Roz's phone, despite it being practically glued to his hand all the time. But 8 shots and 3 beers will do that to a man, Cliff supposes - even a Russian one.

    He's doing this for Roz, and for the team. Sure, the boys had probably been joking when they'd mentioned going "straight to source" to solve The Montreal Jane Problem, but the last 6 weeks had been frankly unbearable. He wasn't sure what exactly Roz had done, but it had to be fixable. They'd been texting for years, for christ's sake. Undoubtedly messy and unconventional, but clearly this Jane was way more important than Roz was willing to admit. Maybe even to himself.

    Maybe that was the problem.
    _________________

    (Or, Cliff starts texting "Jane" before the 2017 All Star Game, and things sort of go from there.)

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    01 Jun 2026

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    His outstretched glove hangs there, frozen, as the noise of the arena mutates into a ringing buzz. Then he’s moving, pushed away by Marlow, and then Boston’s goalie. There’s a flurry of movement, a trainer with a towel, more blood dripping onto the ice, and he just. Stands there. Staring.

    Ilya is helped off the ice. Shane doesn’t even tap his stick.

    Remember when Sidney Crosby caught a puck with his jaw? That doesn't happen to Shane. That happens to Ilya.

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    25 May 2026

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    Shane decides he should let everyone believe he has a hook-up in every city, so it will no longer seem suspicious that he always disappears in Boston. While Shane is proud of himself for the ruse and for the ability to explore new places after away games, Ilya handles the new rumor with grace and dignity. Which is to say he suddenly feels the need to text and maybe even call Shane on his roadies to see if he can keep him occupied.

    Based on a Tumblr post listed below.

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    24 May 2026

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    ‼️ Chapter 2 added 2026-05-20 ‼️

    The problem is, no one knows how to market Ilya Rozanov's (in his own words) sexy Euro masculinity to an audience of white straight men.

    He needs the best. And if it happens to be his secret lover’s mother who despises his very existence, so be it.


    +16319607169

    See? That is what I need. Do not care that you are not professional. You are best
    This is Ilya Rozanov

    Yuna

    This is a fucking joke, right?

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    20 May 2026

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    Freckles.

    From cheek to cheek, right over the bridge of a very tiny button nose.

    He knows these freckles. Knows them better than he knows the backs of his own hands, probably.

    Which, really, combined with the basket and the blanket and the fact that this happens at least once a season to someone in the league, Ilya’s heart races, then settles as he holds the baby close.

    “Well, hello there, my little one.”

    AKA wish baby fic

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    20 May 2026