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October 2022–Ottawa
“Okay,” Harris said, adjusting the mic clipped to Ilya’s practice jersey. “So, fans have been really excited about the two of you being on the same team this year. The married power couple of the NHL and all that.”
He glanced up to see Ilya’s mouth curve into a smug smile while Shane’s ears turned pink.
“And now that we know a little more about your… unique communication style–”
Troy snorted from the corner of the room.
“Harris,” Ilya asked flatly. “Why is Barrett here for this?”
“He’s helping me today as Social Media and Communications Assistant,” Harris lied without hesitation.
Shane’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a real title or did he just bring you coffee as an excuse to sit in on this and make fun of us?”
Troy slurped his drink loudly, eyebrow raised in challenge.
Harris cleared his throat. “Yep. Okay so as I was saying, now that we know…” He paused, a grin tugging at his mouth as he remembered the day the entire team had convinced themselves that Shane and Ilya were headed for a messy divorce–only to realize they were in fact, flirting with each other, “...how you guys are,” he finished.
“We don’t want fans panicking every time you’re at each other’s throats,” Harris continued, “because they don’t realize that’s actually how you two show affection. We already lived through that misunderstanding once.”
He walked over to the camera. “So we thought it might be fun to do a quick little video. I’ll ask some easy questions, you guys respond however you like. It should be playful and light but it’s fine if you guys can’t help teasing each other a little. Be yourselves. Everyone already knows about you as individuals but what people haven’t seen yet is how you are as a couple.”
Shane scrunched his nose in distaste.
“We can keep it to on-ice questions,” Harris offered quickly.
“That’s fine,” Ilya said.
Harris took a seat behind the camera and checked the framing one more time. “Alright. Ready?”
They both nodded.
“First question,” Harris said. “Who’s the faster skater?”
Shane answered instantly. “I am.”
Ilya slowly turned his head and aimed a deadly glare at Shane that Harris never wanted to be on the receiving end of.
Shane rolled his eyes like the look bounced right off of him. “It’s an official stat. I still hold the record from the All Star Skills Competition last year. That I won. Against you.”
Ilya grumbled under his breath, “By zero-point-one-three seconds. And that is a sample size of one. If we had done it ten times, I would have won the other nine.”
“Oh my god, that’s not how anything works. Stop being a baby,” Shane shot back, turning to face the camera again. “The correct answer is me.”
Harris heard Troy muffle a laugh behind him. He sighed loudly. He might be losing control of this interview already. “Wow, okay. Did not expect that to be such a loaded question. Remind me never to bring up skating speed in front of you guys again.”
Ilya crossed his arms and flopped back against his chair dramatically.
Shane smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Next question?”
“Okay,” Harris said, recovering. “Who’s more competitive?”
Ilya barked a laugh. “Shane is more competitive.”
Shane scoffed. “That’s not true.”
Ilya leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. “Shane,” he urged, both eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“You hate losing too!” Shane protested. “Which one of us hid the Yahtzee dice in the middle of a game just because my dad was about to beat him? You know how rarely he wins. You couldn’t have just let him have that one?”
Ilya bit his lip, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling as if replaying the memory. Then he cackled wickedly. “You will never find where I put them.”
Shane gestured wildly at him, vindicated.
Ilya turned back to the camera. “We are both the most competitive.”
Shane nodded. “That’s fair.”
Harris turned around in his chair to shoot Troy an are-you-seeing-this-shit look. Troy grinned and gave him an encouraging thumbs up.
“Great,” Harris said weakly, turning back to them but unable to disguise the amused look on his face. “Who’s the better leader?”
Ilya opened his mouth.
“Ilya, shut up,” Shane cut in before he could speak. “I swear if you say that I am, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Ilya closed his mouth. Then opened it again. “Shane, you are a really good leader.”
Shane tipped his head back and groaned.
“You are,” Ilya insisted. “You led your old team to three Stanley Cup wins. You are strong and smart and no one knows hockey better than you do. The only reason you are not captain here is because I have been on the team longer.”
Shane looked at Ilya and his eyes softened. “Ilya… that’s really sweet. But that last part is completely untrue. I know I’ve joked about taking the captain title from you, but since we started the season and I’ve gotten to see you in action–” He shrugged. “It would be a huge disservice to the team to not have you as our leader. You never give yourself enough credit. You’re amazing. The best captain I’ve ever had.” He smiled lightly. “Including myself.”
Ilya looked at him fondly. “Maybe different leadership styles. Both good.”
“Fine. But I’m saying you for this one.”
There was a long silence.
Harris looked at the list of questions on his phone. This wasn’t going exactly how he expected. Was this good content? Was any of this even usable?
“Can I ask one?” Troy asked suddenly.
Harris whipped around in his chair. “No.”
“Eh, I’m gonna ask one,” Troy said, leaning forward. “Hollzy, what did Roz say to you during that first training camp scrimmage that made you tackle him?”
Shane blushed.
Harris laughed. “That’s not exactly a hockey question,” he pointed out.
“Fine,” said Troy. “Hmm… Okay. You’re both incredible, record-breaking hockey players. Is there anything you’re bad at?”
“That’s even less of a hockey question,” Harris said.
“It’s fine,” Shane said. “Ilya is literally good at everything, it’s super annoying, so that’s a no for him, but I am…” he took a deep breath, “a really awful dancer.”
Ilya pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth in an attempt to cover his smile. “Not so bad,” he said unconvincingly.
“Wow, thanks,” Shane deadpanned.
“Actually maybe yes. Bad. But so bad that it is cute? Which makes you a good dancer, in a way. Very fun to watch at least.”
Shane dropped his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking silently.
“But you’re wrong,” Ilya continued. “I am bad at learning new languages. I have been trying to learn French and the pronunciations… is impossible for me.”
“You speak two languages fluently!” Shane argued.
“Yes, but your Russian will probably be better than my English by next year.”
“Eto nepravda. Ne bud’ glupym,” said Shane in Russian.
“Ty tol’ko podtverzhdayesh’ moi slova, vypendrezhnik,” responded Ilya.
“So no, then,” Troy concluded.
Harris laughed. “Alright, so in addition to dancing poorly and learning languages, what do you guys do when you’re not playing hockey?”
Shane’s eyes grew wide. He turned and glanced at Ilya who snorted a laugh in response.
“Oh my god, besides that!” Harris shrilled. He was starting to feel like his promotion to Senior Director of Communications might not be a completely positive thing.
Ilya pointed at Shane. “His fault. He is always…” He twirled his hand in the air searching for the right words. “…Minding the gutters?”
“I…” Shane cleared his throat, pink flooding his cheeks. “Shit sorry, what was the question again?”
Harris repeated it.
Shane nodded, gathering himself. “We hang out a lot at home. We cook together, watch movies, play video games.” He paused. “We haven’t been able to do much in public since we’ve been together but that obviously isn’t a problem anymore, so over the past few months we’ve met each other’s friends properly which has been great. I’ve also been showing Ilya my favorite hiking trails in the area. He wasn’t into hiking at first but you like it now, right?” He turned to see Ilya’s reaction.
“Eh,” Ilya shrugged. “Is okay. The weather has been good.”
“And we always take our dog Anya with us,” Shane added.
Ilya beamed and sat up straighter in his chair. “She found a stick last time. Carried it all the way home with her.”
“Ooh, important question.” Harris said. “Would you guys ever consider bringing Anya to practice?”
“Of course!” Ilya exclaimed. “But you have to bring Chiron the same day so they can play.”
“Deal,” said Harris.
“Having two dogs at practice sounds really distracting,” Shane muttered.
“Too late, it has been decided,” said Ilya.
“Exactly,” Harris said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Alright, final question. What are you most looking forward to this season?”
“Playing together,” they said at the same time.
Shane laughed then added, “Winning the cup together.”
“Yes. That,” confirmed Ilya.
The two of them smiled at each other like they’d forgotten anyone else was in the room.
“Okay,” Harris said faintly. “That’s–that’s great guys.”
“Got what you needed?” Shane asked.
“Yep,” Harris nodded. “Thank you so much for taking the time to do this.”
Harris watched the two men leave together, holding hands and arguing about whether or not hiking counted as exercise. The door clicked shut behind them.
Harris slumped back in his seat.
Troy sat down silently in the chair next to him. “So,” he said. “What color was that?”
Harris giggled, remembering their well intentioned chart from a few weeks ago. “I have no idea.”
Troy nodded thoughtfully. “I still can’t tell if they’re fighting or flirting. Or both?”
“I think it’s both. I think it might always be both.”
Troy rubbed his jaw. “They’re obsessed with each other.”
Harris smiled, “I know.”
“No, like,” Troy continued, “clinically. If one of them stopped chirping the other, I’d assume something was wrong.”
Harris thought about the scrimmage that had led to the intervention. The color scale. The panic over what had turned out to be… foreplay.
He snorted.
“We really staged a marital intervention because two elite hockey players flirt by attacking each other,” he said.
Troy grinned, “I love this team.”
Harris beamed at him. Troy had really come into his own since joining the Centaurs last season. “Okay. New system.”
“Hit me with it,” Troy said, slapping his palms on his thighs.
“No colors,” Harris declared. “We clearly can’t be trusted with those.”
“Agreed.”
“We just assume,” Harris continued, “that if they’re yelling, hitting, arguing, or refusing to agree on literally anything–”
“They’re fine,” Troy finished.
Harris nodded. “Thriving, even.”
Troy smiled. “Yes. Great system.”
Harris glanced at the door Shane and Ilya had just walked out of, their voices still faintly audible in the hallway beyond.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “But honestly?”
Troy raised an eyebrow.
“...Green,” Harris said.
Troy laughed.