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Ilya forced his eyes open behind his sunglasses. He was absolutely exhausted from his flights and connections. But, that's what happened when you had to be picky about flight prices: you were stuck on shitty red eyes, with shittier seats. It would all be worth it soon, he reminded himself. He looked around at the train platform, wondering if he’d missed the train or if it was running late.
He was a bit of an anomaly. A Russian hockey player would usually get into the NHL with little issue. Especially when they were as good as he was. But he’d promised his mother that he would get a proper education if he ever came this far. Even when he was little, she had seen his talent, and she had reminded him over and over that no amount of talent could overcome a career ending injury. Or illness. He hadn’t thought too much of it, but always agreed and promised her he would go to school and study… well, something. He had time to figure it out.
Then, he lost his mother, started losing pieces of his father – who was already insufferable to begin with – and Ilya made good on his promise, much to his remaining family’s displeasure.
So here he was, waiting for the train that would bring him to his new life at a school in Boston. It hadn’t been too hard to get the full scholarship he’d been seeking when recruiters saw NHL scouts drooling over him. He’d been a decent enough student too (when he wanted to apply himself). A few years here and he could get exactly what he wanted: the NHL career of his dreams, the education he’d promised his mother, and maybe a new citizenship along the way.
Right now, he just had to stay awake and not miss his train stop once he got on.
The train arrived just as he was convincing himself he could maybe close his eyes for a minute, and he hauled his hockey bag over his shoulder and gripped the handle of his suitcase. He moved forward as the train stopped and got on the train, promptly getting stuck in place by his suitcase getting caught in the small crack between the platform and the car he was getting on.
“I can help with that,” a soft voice came behind him as he tried to tug the suitcase and not lose balance because of his hockey bag.
“Thanks,” Ilya mumbled as he turned and saw the young man that had offered his help.
“Mine did the same thing when I got here this weekend.”
“Yeah,” was the only word Ilya could think to answer.
Ilya’d always known he wasn’t straight – which was another reason he didn’t mind being far away from his homeland – but he wasn’t usually attracted to men quite as much as he was to women. And yet, if he was to ever describe what his type was when it came to men? It was staring at him on a train in Boston.
Ilya stumbled to the seat in front of him, trying to contain his oversized luggage as best he could and not take up the whole row. Unfortunately, his attempt to save a space for the cute boy he’d just encountered was thwarted by a young lady who clearly didn’t notice that she completely cut off said cute boy. Ilya saw him scrunch his nose a bit, like he was sorry the spot next to him got taken (was Ilya imagining that?) and take a seat across from him instead.
Ilya was now caught in a game of trying to sneak glances at the cute dark haired guy with the most mesmerizing spots over his nose, without getting caught. And the object of his current interest was doing the exact same if the rosy colour forming under his freckles was anything to go by every time their eyes met.
At least you won’t fall asleep, Ilya thought to himself.
He pretended to look things up on his phone, looking up and across the train car whenever he could. Ilya tried to distract himself with his upcoming class schedule, or trying to remember his new roommates name – Fisher? Baker? Hunter! That was it. And a boring first name he probably wouldn’t bother remembering right away – but his gaze kept going back to the seat across the aisle and the dark eyes that often were looking right back at him before going back to the phone he was holding, typing away furiously every time.
Before Ilya could let his mind wander too far as the guy who’d completely infatuated him bit his lip, making Ilya wonder what those plush lips might feel like against his own, it was finally his stop and he let out a sigh of relief. He was a bit sad they’d part ways, but this could get out of hand quickly, Ilya knew. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that just yet.
Until he realized the man did the same thing and they both got up at the same time.
He smiled at Ilya this time and waved him forward out of the train. Ilya wasn’t sure why, but he turned around once he was out on the platform and was happy to see the dark haired guy just behind him.
“Thanks again,” Ilya told him, cursing his heavy accent probably making him sound stupid right now. “For helping at the airport. With the luggage.”
That got him a bright smile, and Ilya didn’t want to think too much why his heart did a summersault in his chest at that sight.
“Anytime,” the guy answered before pointing to his bag. “You play? Or just convenient from bringing stuff here?”
“Play,” Ilya answered, not sure how much else to tell this stranger. “Hockey scholarship,” he decided to add. That seemed safe.
“Nice, me too! It’s my first year here, actually. Moved from Canada. Not as far as you, but still weird not being home, eh?” Ilya’s face must have shown his confusion at the question, because the guy blushed and bit his lip sheepishly. “Your accent,” was all he answered, quietly.
“Oh. Um, yes. It is… different. But exciting.”
“It is, yeah.” He extended his hand towards Ilya. “I’m Shane, by the way.”
Ilya took the offered hand and shook it, trying to ignore just how soft and warm it was, how it fit so well in his larger hand, how his brain supplied questions of how that hand would feel elsewhere on his body…
“Ilya,” he answered, taking his hand back.
“Nice to meet you, Ilya.” And damn if his name didn’t sound good coming from those lips. “I have to head out, I’m meeting my new roommate… hopefully we see each other around. Who knows, maybe we’ll play on the same team.”
“Maybe,” Ilya answered quietly, not sure if that would be the best thing or the worse thing ever.
“See you around.” Shane turned and headed away and Ilya caught himself staring at his ass for far longer than was probably appropriate.
This should be interesting, Ilya thought to himself.
~°~°~
Ilya had done a few laps around the arena, happy to be in skates again on a fresh sheet of ice.
His coach called him over and Ilya went easily, ready to start.
“As you know, we’ve got a few new rookies this year, and you aren’t our only centre vying for Hunter’s top spot when he leaves at the end of this year.”
Ilya nodded, he’d heard rumblings about another top prospect on the team, but he’d ignore it. He knew he was the most talented one here, why bother worrying about other players?
“There he is,” his coach said, looking over Ilya’s shoulder, amused smile on his lips. “Rozanov, meet your top centre rival for the next year, Hollander.”
Ilya turned as a guy came to a stop next to him, spraying him with snow in the process.
“You,” the other guy said and Ilya just shook his head as he saw cute Shane from the train standing next to him.
It was settled.
He was truly fucked.