Chapter Text
2026
Ilya is late. He is always late.
He stops to get a coffee since it doesn’t really matter if he’s five minutes or fifteen minutes late. He’s late, either way. The coffee shop a couple blocks from his apartment sells massive croissants that Svetlana likes. He’ll hand her the bag with a smirk and a shrug, the only kind of apology he can offer for being late. She knows the routine by now.
He tips the barista well and leans forward on the counter to wink at him. He’s known Eli for a couple months now. This is their game. Ilya knows where it will lead if he keeps it up long enough. He’s pleased to find a plain sugar cookie thrown into the bakery bag when he’s handed his order. Give it another few weeks, and Ilya will slip Eli his phone number.
Ilya knows it is more likely that Eli will be the one to make the first move.
As Ilya is walking out, struggling to hold the bakery bag and his cup in one hand to pull open the door, someone else does it. Without looking, he mumbles out a thank you and nods a little.
“Wait, Ilya?”
Ilya tries not to groan. This happens sometimes. People still recognize him. They want pictures and autographs. They want to go through his entire hockey history with him, like he wasn’t the one to live it. They want him to Facetime their cousin or brother or dad and awkwardly wave and say something cheesy. He is not in the mood for this. Today or any day.
Slowly, he looks up, ready to be tortured.
It’s not a fan, though.
“Fuck.”
“It is you,” Shane says, a goofy grin on his face. His hair is neatly pushed back, a few stray strands falling out into his eyes. He’s in dress pants and a salmon-colored shirt, a wool coat on over top. Ilya wishes it was a fan when he finally manages to take a better look at his face, those freckles, the thick-brimmed black glasses he’s wearing.
Ilya doesn’t know what to say. He knew eventually this would happen, but he figured it would be some hockey-related event. Not like this. Not without mental preparation.
“God, it’s been so long,” Shane says. He doesn’t seem to mind Ilya’s lack of enthusiasm. “How are you doing?”
Ilya wets his lips and swallows hard. “Good. And you?”
The smile on his face dims just a little. “Really good. I’m in town for a game. Do you live here now?”
He nods.
Shane is about to say something, but someone is trying to come into the café, and Ilya is still blocking the door. Ilya moves out of the way, both him and Shane now idling on the side of the street.
“I’m late,” Ilya finally says.
“Oh! Yeah, of course, I’m sorry. It was good to see you, man.”
Man. It’s patronizing.
“You too.”
Shane searches his face for a second, eyebrows creased slightly, face an open book just like before. Ilya tries to push past him, tries to see how fast he can forget that this encounter ever happened, but Shane stops him at the last second.
“Can I give you my number?” he asks, already digging in his pocket for his phone. “We should catch up.”
Ilya doesn’t want it. He really doesn’t want it. Shane is being polite. He’s being a good boy. He’s saying exactly the type of things you’re supposed to say when you run into someone you haven’t seen in years.
He takes Shane’s phone and ends up putting his own phone number into it. When he starts to type his name, his old number starts to pull up automatically. He quickly fills in his new one.
Before Ilya departs, Shane stops him again and goes, “I’m serious. I really want to see you again.”
“Sounds great.”
This is enough for Shane to finally let him leave, another smile bursting on his face. He has the slightest wrinkles by his eyes when he smiles now. Ilya is nearly floored by it.
He makes it only a couple blocks away before he rounds a corner and leans against a building. His heart hammers in his chest as he tries to catch his breath.
*
“You’re joking!” Rose squeals into the microphone before covering her mouth with her hand.
Shane loosens his tie a little and starts to unbutton his shirt. “I’m serious. He looked good, too. Still in shape. Dressed very European. His hair is long again.”
“Jesus, Shane.”
He’s back in his hotel room after another long day. He had completely forgotten that he had texted Rose after his encounter with Ilya before heading into work. It only took a couple seconds for Rose to Facetime him when he was finally back in his hotel room for the night.
“I’m allowed to say he looks good,” Shane defends. “It’s true.”
Rose huffs. “Sure. But he treated you like shit and then just left you.”
“Years ago.”
“Sure. Do you really think he’s changed?”
“Rose, I never said I was going to start sucking his dick again, okay? I just saw him. He gave me his number. I left. That’s it.”
“So, you’re not going to text him?”
Shane shrugged. It was the truth. He wasn’t sure.
“Alright, alright. I just don’t want to see you like that again.”
Shane tried hard to not think about those days. After Ilya had abruptly cut him off, Shane took it hard. He was desperate to not think about his feelings. He drank a lot. He fucked a lot. He didn’t succeed in forgetting anything. He mourned for a few months, his hockey paid the price, and he eventually got out of it.
“He’s married.” Shane says. He’s known for a couple years. He saw it coming, in a way, but that didn’t stop the pain he felt when he read the headline on some trashy gossip website.
“Good for him.”
“But I could still be his friend?”
Rose sighs. “Are you serious?
“We can be friends.”
They had never been friends, not really. Shane thinks it’s possible, though. Probably.
“Please don’t let him hurt you again,” Rose says after a few moments. Her face is serious.
“I won’t,” Shane promises. He holds out his pinky in front of the camera and this makes Rose laugh. He feels like he can breathe a little better. “Tell me about the shoot. Was Chris a dick again, today?”
When he finishes his call with Rose, he slowly undresses and gets ready for bed. When he faces the bathroom mirror to brush and wash his face, he stops before taking off his glasses and looks at himself. For a few seconds, he tries to imagine what Ilya saw when he looked at him. He’s older, sure, but he is more confident. He dresses well. He wears fancy cologne that he bought after someone he slept with recommended it.
He feels about a million times older than the last time he saw Ilya, but he can’t help the way he instantly wants to fall back into whatever fucked up thing they had going years ago. They won’t get back together, though. They can’t.
*
2017
They were in a hotel room. Always a fucking hotel room.
Shane thought he had come over for sex. He had secretly hoped for something more after, but he would have been fine with just sex. Instead, Ilya sat at the chair next to the bed and wouldn’t even hold his gaze. Before Ilya could even speak, Shane knew instantly what this was. He had a girlfriend break up with him in high school. He remembered this feeling.
When he was in high school, though, the breakup was a relief. This was different. Shane felt like he couldn’t breathe. He needed Ilya to talk.
“Hollander,” he started, clearing his throat. “Shane.”
Shane loved the way his first name sounded when Ilya said it.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped with the whole cottage thing, okay?” Shane said quickly. “I know it’s dumb. We don’t need to talk about it, really.”
It wasn’t dumb. Shane was desperate for Ilya to say yes. If it needed to be dumb, though, if only to preserve what they had, he would say it.
“Not dumb. I just…I can’t.”
“Right, of course.”
Ilya scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”
A family was walking down the hall outside their room. Their kids were yelling gibberish. Shane rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans.
He would be fine. He could do this. There were other men. Easier men. Men that wouldn’t make everything so complicated.
“I can’t choose you over hockey. An easy fuck isn’t worth losing it all.”
Shane swallowed heavily. Horribly, this seemed to confirm his fears. He loved Ilya, but Ilya did not love him back. He was only an easy fuck. He was angry at himself for getting so attached. He had fallen so hard, like a girl in a sappy romance movie. Pathetic.
“Yeah, of course,” Shane finally said. He wanted to tell him they could be more careful, that they could do this for a few more years at the very least. He couldn’t do this, though. If Ilya wanted out, he needed to let him go. He blinked away tears and prayed that Ilya couldn’t tell.
“Is not easy, you know? You are great at sucking cock. But…I can’t lose hockey.”
Shane nodded. He wanted to laugh with Ilya, but he couldn’t. They were silent for a minute. Shane couldn’t look at his face. Suddenly, he stood up from the bed and headed for the door. He stopped in front of Ilya, though, and awkwardly held out his palm. A business transaction dried up. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t take it back once he had shoved his hand in front of Ilya’s face.
When Shane finally met his eyes, Ilya smirked. There was no fire to it. Not even a hint of his usual mischievousness. He didn’t make fun of Shane. He actually reached his hand forward and shook. Their skin burned where they touched.
“I guess I’ll see you on the ice,” Shane said, throat tight.
“Yes. Bye, Hollander.”
“Bye, Rozanov.”
Shane quickly left the hotel room, the heavy door slamming loudly on his way out. He walked briskly to the elevator. His eyes stung. He tried to keep his breath even. This was nothing. He would be fine. He just needed to breathe.
When the elevator opened, it was thankfully empty. Shane got in, clicked the first floor, and then leaned his head against the smooth metal and tried to breathe. Ilya didn’t feel the same way. He didn’t love Shane. He cared more about hockey than him. Of course. He –
The elevator dinged for the lobby, and Shane immediately stood up and schooled his face back into what he hoped was a neutral expression. He pulled down the brim of his hat and hoped that no one could see how red his eyes were.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the lobby. He would be fine.
*
2026
Shane doesn’t text Ilya for a day. A whole day.
Ilya is offended. He doesn’t say a word, though, not even to Svetlana. He just turns on the sound on his phone and checks the screen every few minutes for a full twenty-four hours. It’s pathetic, but it’s not below him.
Svetlana can tell he’s anxious, too. They’re eating dinner at home the night he ran into Shane at the coffee shop when Svetlana goes, “Who are you waiting to text you?”
Ilya takes a bite of the pasta he prepared. He’s a good cook. Svetlana is lucky. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t answer truthfully. “That fucking barista that works down the road,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Still? I thought you guys had already gotten together?”
He shakes his head. “Maybe he read that I’m married.”
“You think he’s Googling you?” she says, laughing. “Some old hockey player?”
“Fuck you. Famous old hockey player. People were devastated when I retired.”
And they were. He had an abrupt exit from hockey that shocked almost everyone around him. It shocked him, too. He couldn’t keep doing it, though. After his injury, things had changed too much. He was always in pain and he wasn’t as good as he was before. It killed him. Shane Hollander constantly beating him killed him.
“You know who I saw last night?” Svetlana asks, not waiting for a response. “That girl from my pilates class I told you about.”
Ilya smirked. “Was it in the studio?”
“No, she has a nice apartment nearby.”
“Give me her number when she gets bored of you.”
Ilya likes being married to Svetlana. She didn’t even hesitate when Ilya brought up the idea of the two of them getting married so he could become a citizen. It made sense. She loved hockey because of her father, and thus loved Ilya. Ilya loved that she could speak Russian. Svetlana is conveniently an American and makes it so that Ilya never has to return to Russia ever again. Perfect couple.
They knew all along that although they enjoy coming home to each other, they were always allowed to sleep around. It works for both of them. Sometimes, Ilya thinks, it is nice when they fuck because they know each other so well. They are best friends.
So, Ilya is not sure why he doesn’t just tell Svetlana about running into Shane. She knows about their relationship. Or whatever it was that they had with each other. Ilya doesn’t tell her, though. He keeps it to himself, hands sweaty when he checks his phone again to find that he receives no new messages.
It’s not until the next day that his phone chimes while he is working out. Shane still has the same number. The notification comes through as a text from Jane. Ilya never changed the name in his phone. Quickly, he changes the name to Shane Hollander. When he opens the message, he sees their past messages still there above the new one. He knows what they say because he’s poured over them so many times. He is also embarrassed by what he wrote, but never did delete them.
He ignores them so that he can quickly read the new one.
Shane: Do you like Mexican food?
Ilya hates himself a little for the smile that blooms on his face.