Archive of Our Own

Shane leans forward, straightening the cushion on the couch, his heart borderline racing as he waits for that familiar knock. Could a knock be familiar? Better question: should a knock be familiar?

He supposes it didn’t really matter because everything about Ilya had become familiar. He was about a year too late and far too deep into a committed relationship to backtrack on that one. The train had well and truly left the station without him. He shuffles back, eyes narrowing at the decorative pillow he’d just tilted approximately half an inch. He hums contentedly.

This feeling never got less intense; if anything, over the years, it had gotten more intense. It had happened slowly, almost out of their control, everything dialling up a little more each time until the floodgates had well and truly burst open. And now, here they were. A thing. An item. Committed. Boyfriends. As they’d settled into the new label, the secret they now held closer than ever bubbled between them, their feelings growing around it, encasing it where they could keep it safe. The stakes had only risen since their rookie season. Before, it had felt like their entire careers were on the line; now it felt like… everything. At some point, this thing between them had become the most important thing in Shane’s life. Ilya had become the most important thing to Shane.

Maybe one day the novelty would wear off. But for now, when they were still stealing time whenever they could get it, Shane revelled in the feeling, basked in it really. Even if it led him to dark places—adjusting throw pillows like an over-eager interior designer on one of those shows Ilya sometimes put on and obsessively stocking his fridge with cans of Coke he’ll never drink.

They’d planned this last month, lazily sprawled out on a hotel room bed, legs tangled together as they’d compared their phone calendars. It had lined up too well, almost like it had been put together with them in mind. An overlapping bye week in their schedules, bookended by commitments they couldn’t get out of. A mini-vacation all theirs for the taking, advertised in big, flashing neon lights. They had actually briefly talked—well, maybe the better word was fantasized about going somewhere before they both realised they’d much rather hole up at either of their places. They hadn’t bothered mentioning that it was stupidly risky. That was a given, something they knew instinctively. It didn’t matter much anyway, because just being together, with no commitments hanging over their heads, was their idea of a vacation. It was better than any pool or beach. Just them, an endless spread of time ahead of them where they wouldn’t be bothered by, well, anyone. They had eventually decided on Shane’s place. Ilya had insisted because Shane had the bigger shower, and apparently, that was very important. Shane couldn’t argue with the logic.

The door knocks then, the familiar tap tap tap he’s come to know, softer on hotel room doors, a little louder, a little less unhurried here. Shane leans forward, adjusting the cushion just a little more for good measure, then he heads to the door, pulling it open leisurely, like a man who had definitely not been waiting. Pfft. Not at all.

“Hey,” Ilya says immediately, like he had been waiting, a small bag slung over his shoulder, his mouth tipping into a smile that makes Shane feel a little gooey already.

“Hey,” Shane replies, and it comes out breathy. He can’t imagine his own smile isn’t bordering on lovesick.

A beat of silence follows that Shane takes full advantage of, assessing the man in front of him, his eyes trailing down his body until Ilya says, “Are you going to let me in?”

Shane steps back to let Ilya pass, pushing the door closed behind him. Now that his assessment of Ilya is complete, he moves on, his eyes locking onto the bag that drops to the floor between them with a soft thud. “You have stuff here,” he points out.

Ilya had a lot of stuff here, clothes, a toothbrush—that Shane hides under the sink the second he leaves—thirty cans of Coke stockpiled like they were about to experience an apocalypse between now and next week. The same way Shane had stuff at Ilya’s, toothbrush and ginger ale included. It was easier that way.

Ilya shrugs lazily, already closing the gap between them. “More stuff. Maybe a gift for you–” Ilya tugs him forward the rest of the way, seemingly not very interested in rehashing the contents of his bag.

“For me?” Shane asks, bumping Ilya’s chest with a laugh.

Ilya hums against his skin, nuzzling into the space between his shoulder and neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Shane melts against him, everything washing away as he revels in these first few minutes. The reconnecting, the way Ilya is extra clingy, like he’s trying to make sure Shane is exactly how he’d left him. It’s a wonder he doesn’t start checking him all over for any new cuts or bruises. He resurfaces from his attack on Shane’s neck, pulling back only to kiss him. His lips move against Shane’s softly, chastely.

After a few moments, Ilya pulls back, sighing happily into the space between them, his eyes still bouncing around his face.

“How was your flight?” Shane asks, taking the interval to assess Ilya again, his eyes trailing from his tired eyes to his eager hands, fingers tracing soft patterns up and down his sides, making it hard to concentrate.

“Fine. Quick,” Ilya replies quickly, as if it’s not relevant.

“I’ve, uh, told everyone that I’m holing up here this week to unwind, so we should be good there.”

“Everyone?” Ilya repeats, leaning a little closer.

“Hayden.” Shane rolls his eyes, already knowing the response he’ll get. “I said no to family dinner.”

Ilya’s eyes widen, mocking, and yet, it has the opposite effect on Shane, a warm burst settling over him like he’d been paid a compliment instead. “No Pike family dinner.” He blows a breath. “How will you survive?”

“You’ll have to step in with your expert culinary skills.”

“If you are very lucky, maybe I can show you what I have learnt recently,” Ilya says.

“You’ve leveled up from tuna melts?”

The corner of Ilya’s lip tips up. “Grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese?” Shane repeats, raising an eyebrow. That was more like leveling down from tuna melts.

“Can use that terrible excuse for cheese you like—”

Shane scoffs. “It’s delicious. You should try it, it has more—”

Ilya nods, pressing another quick kiss to Shane’s lips. He pulls back, murmuring, “For rabbit, maybe.”

Shane mumbles something about rabbits not eating cheese, letting the conversation fizzle out so he can pepper a trail of kisses along Ilya’s jaw, nipping at his earlobe. Something Ilya had said came back to him. “A gift?” he asks lowly, curiosity getting the better of him.

Ilya hums, unhanding himself from Shane’s attack on his ear to unzip the bag slowly. His eyes glint as they flick from the slow move of the zipper to Shane, taunting him.

Shane watches impatiently. “We haven’t got all day–”

“No,” Ilya agrees, smirking. “We have a whole week.”

That settles over Shane’s skin pleasantly, some of his impatience chipping away. That is, until Ilya flips the bag open, and it all comes hurtling back. Shane stares down at it blankly. “What the fuck, Ilya?”

“What?” He straightens back up, the picture of innocence as he spreads the black jersey out helpfully so that Shane can see Rozanov plastered across the back. He didn’t need to; Shane would recognise that jersey from the other side of the room. The other side of the world, maybe. Ilya shakes the fabric toward Shane, also a little tauntingly. “Is for you.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“But you would look so pretty–”

“Is this a sex thing?” Shane asks judgmentally. “Or a you think you’re funny thing?”

Ilya laughs out loud, his hands dropping to his sides. He looks at him seriously. “Could be both. And I am very funny.”

Shane isn’t sure which is better. He scrunches his nose, eyes trailing the name and number. “I’m not wearing that,” he says again, just so that they’re both clear.

Ilya drops the jersey into the bag, but it misses and pools into a pile on the floor between them. Shane stares down at it.

Ilya grins, probably at the disgruntled look on Shane’s face, before he kicks the jersey to the side. That’s a problem for tomorrow. Or the day after. Or maybe even the day after that. They have so many days to worry about it.
Ilya walks Shane backward toward the couch, wasting no time in dropping a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. “We will see,” he murmurs against his skin, heating Shane from the inside out.

Yeah, they would see alright.

Shane watches Ilya moving around the kitchen from his chair. Not that he’s moving much. But watching him place cheese on bread is still pretty exciting, especially when he’s ditched his shirt, his muscles on full display. “This cheese is not going to melt,” he murmurs, still turned from Shane.

“It melts,” Shane replies distractedly. Not that he’s ever tried. “Probably.”

Ilya gets back to work. “So, we will be alone this week, yes?”

“Yeah,” Shane confirms. “I told everyone I needed some time to clear my head after the last game.”

The game they had lost. Shane didn’t know if it were the best evasion technique he’d ever come up with. Sure, he was bummed, but not isolating himself to clear his head for a whole week bummed. But he’d had to think fast when he’d been dragged into a conversation about what everyone was doing during their rare free week, and that was what had come out.

Ilya looks over his shoulder, shooting Shane a surprised look. “You lied.”

“I am clearing my head. And anyway, no one comes here. I was just making sure.” He shrugs. “Double reinforcements.”

Ilya raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe him. “Hayden is here all the time. More than your own boyfriend is here.”

Shane’s pretty sure there’s a sting of jealousy wrapped around the words. He can’t blame him. One time, on a particularly lonely night, when missing Ilya had been the only thing he could think of, Shane had laid in bed cursing Cliff Marleau simply because he had gotten to talk to Ilya on the bench. It wasn’t his finest moment.

“He probably has a toothbrush here, too,” Ilya continues, pulling Shane back into the conversation, the alleged gross cheese hanging from his hand.

In another life, Shane would slide his phone out and snap a picture of the ridiculousness unfolding in front of him. But in this life, he just shakes his head, biting back his smile. “Hayden doesn’t have a toothbrush here.”

Ilya turns back to the stove, silence settling over them. Shane relaxes into it, sliding off the chair to cross the kitchen. He can’t not. They may have a week, but he wants to make the most of every second. He snakes his arms around Ilya’s waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder, staring down at the pan, a grilled gross cheese sizzling away.

“Do you think he would care?” Ilya asks suddenly, the question cutting through the silence.

“Huh?” Shane mumbles, a little lost as he watches Ilya flip the sandwich like a seasoned pro. Tuna melts, grilled cheese, what next? A microwave meal? “Hayden?”

Ilya hums. “Yes. Would he care about—” He gestures between them awkwardly on account of Shane still draped around him, and the fact that he’s currently halfway through making lunch. “This?”

Shane lifts his head, frowning. “Like us?”

“Yes. Or maybe you.”

It’s something Shane hasn’t given much thought to. Mostly because when he does think about it, a whoosh of panic presses in on his sternum, making it hard to breathe. If he forced himself to think about it, tried to be unbiased about it, he didn’t think Hayden was homophobic. He was actually pretty confident he wasn’t. “I—” he hesitates before deciding on, “I’m not sure. Why?”

“I was just thinking,” Ilya says simply, lifting Shane’s hand to press his lips to it. He tips the spatula toward the pan. “Look, gross grilled cheese is ready.”

Shane straightens up, the jersey hanging limply from one hand, his plate of perfectly made, yet undecided if gross, grilled cheese in the other. He’s already walked past the pile of fabric three times since Ilya had dropped it there earlier, and it’s bugging him. “Did you want this?”

Ilya looks up, speaking around his bite when he says, “It is rude to give gift back, Shane.”

“It’s rude to give a gift like that,” Shane counters.

“Fans worldwide would faint if I gave them this. They are sold out on every website, don’t you know?”

Shane looks down at it, then back to Ilya. “No, they’re not.”

Ilya smirks. “Want me to sign it?”

“How much do you think I could auction it off for?” Shane asks flatly, throwing the jersey toward Ilya.

It lands in his lap, and Ilya throws it over the back of the couch, reaching to retrieve his plate again. He takes another bite of his grilled cheese, smirk widening as he slowly chews. “Millions of dollars. Maybe more. Could probably retire.”

Shane scoffs, finally flopping onto the couch next to him. He doesn’t need to worry about displacing his cushions. They’d already done a good job of that when Ilya had pushed him onto the couch, taking him into his mouth. Shane starts eating his sandwich, enjoying the warmth of Ilya’s body next to his. Funnily enough, the cheese melted pretty well. Who would have thought?

Ilya finishes first, leaning back against the cushions with a contented sigh, his hands resting on his stomach. His eyes flick to Shane. “Is good?”

Shane nods. “Told you the cheese wasn’t bad.”

“It was okay,” Ilya decides.

“You ate the whole thing,” Shane points out.

“Yes, otherwise I would have to survive on spinach or that weird juice in your fridge.” He pulls a face.

Shane huffs a laugh at the same time Ilya’s phone vibrates on the table in front of them. He reaches forward, skimming whatever the notification is, before he starts tapping away. Shane keeps eating, watching Ilya. When he huffs a soft laugh for the third time, curiosity gets the better of him. “Who are you texting?”

“Just Marleau.” Ilya turns his phone toward Shane, a text thread open.

None of your fucking business Marleau

You sound like clingy girlfriend

It is not a good look

Marleau
The boys are going out tonight. We’ve been tagging you in the groupchat
I know

I saw

I left

You keep adding me. Like I am hostage

I am the one who needs SOS

🖕

Marleau
😂
So you are with Jane?
Not what I said

Don't do it

Marleau

Shane’s pretty sure his entire face flushes. He’s not sure whether it’s embarrassment or something else. Something warmer. He forcefully swallows the feeling, looking back at Ilya. “Your whole team knows about…Jane?”

It feels removed from him. Even though he is Jane. Shane to Jane. It shouldn’t surprise him, especially when Hayden and J.J. know about Boston Lily.

Well, knows is generous, maybe.

They knew some things: if Shane was leaving a hotel room after a game in Boston, he was going to see Boston Lily. Boston Ilya. They knew that when they were in Boston, Shane tended to be happier. J.J’s words, not his. What J.J. had actually said was that the sun shone from his fucking face when they played in Boston. Shane didn’t think there was any merit to that, considering he saw Boston Ilya in other places.

It wasn’t the entire team, but still. People knew. It was a slight bending of the truth that afforded them the luxury of not being questioned by their teammates every five minutes. In Ilya’s case, it wasn’t all that effective.

Ilya hums, flicking back to the team group chat, a whole bunch of texts coming through in real time. Shane’s eyes focus on the sprawl of messages.
Marleau
Bets off. Roz is with his Montreal girl
Varkov
NOOOOOOOO
Connors
Roz! Not for the whole week
You’re neglecting us :(
Marleau
We’ve lost him
Connors
We are orphans
Varkov
And Ilya Rozanov was never seen again.
You guys are very stupid

Kane
I have just seen a ghost
👻👻👻👻👻
Marleau
😂
Look. He’s typing. He’s about to tell us this is his last message for the week. And then Connors will cry.
What Marleau said. Have fun without me. I am having nice week with Jane relaxing. And not with you fuckers. You should try it.

Connors
😭
Marleau
Tell her we said hi
No

My Jane would not want to say hi to you idiots

ㅤ
ㅤ
ㅤ
ㅤ
ㅤ
ㅤㅤ That last text makes Shane laugh. Ilya’s not wrong. “When did you tell them?” he asks. He doesn’t care, probably cares less than he should in all honesty.

Ilya locks the phone, sliding it back on the table next to the now-empty plates. “Marleau figured it out. Saw the texts.” He shrugs lazily. “He is smarter than he looks. Saw I never came out in Montreal. Two plus two makes four. Well—” He gestures to Shane. “Kind of.”

Shane nods, and it’s a little jerky. He’s not sure why. “Hayden knows about Boston Lily,” he admits.

Ilya’s chin tips as he watches him carefully. “Okay.”

Shane nods back, surer this time. “The same thing, uh, I never go out in Boston—”

The corner of Ilya’s lip twitches. “You never go out not in Boston.”

Shane shoots him a look. “I go out.”

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “To see Boston Lily.”

Shane shoots him a look, but Ilya just smiles, gently pulling him to his chest. Shane listens to the steady thrum of Ilya’s heartbeat under his ear, continuing for some reason, “It’s not the whole team, just Hayden and J.J.”

Ilya’s hand settles in Shane’s hair, his fingers running through the strands, and Shane stifles a contented sigh. “So you could have told them you were—” Ilya pulls back to look down at him. “—with Lily and not on some yoga retreat?”

Shane looks back at him. “Boston Lily stays in Boston.”

He didn’t need to complicate things further. Not when everything was already so complicated. If he made Boston Lily serious, then that could lead to questions he didn’t want to answer, or worse, they’d think he had an imaginary girlfriend. That he could never live down.

Ilya tips his chin, his eyes glinting. “But Boston Ilya does not.”

Ilya pushes Shane against the closet door, and it clatters loudly in the quiet room. Shane pulls back, shooting Ilya a quick glare, but Ilya just dives back in, licking up into Shane’s mouth, his fingers closing around his jaw. Shane decides the closet door is a problem for another day. What even is a closet door?

After they’d stepped out of the shower they’d shared, Shane had gotten three steps into the bedroom before Ilya had pounced, picking up where they’d left off.

And now, as Shane is matching Ilya’s eager pace, he’s questioning why they ever even considered vacationing anywhere else other than this very bedroom. In fact, they should make this a bi-annual thing, pen it into the calendar, and make it a whole commitment. Yeah, that sounds good. Ten out of ten on fucking TripAdvisor.

Shane’s breath hitches as Ilya’s hand falls to toy with the towel at his waist, his fingers twisting around the fabric teasingly. “Do you want—”

A muffled knock sounds out, cutting things off like they’ve been doused with an ice-cold bucket of water. They both freeze in place, and if it wasn’t so unnerving, it might be a little funny the way Ilya’s hand tightens around his bicep, his eyes widening like he’s seen a ghost. Shane hushes him, leaning around his body and angling his ear toward the door to listen.

“Did you order something?” Ilya asks loudly.

Shane turns back to him. “Like what?”

Ilya shrugs. “Another Rozanov jersey. Super gross cheese—”

“Shut up,” Shane whisper shouts when the knocking starts back up, louder this time. “It’s only ten,” he thinks out loud.

Ten isn’t exactly early, but it also kind of is for an unexpected visitor after he’d told everyone in his life he was relaxing. Who does that?

Then, in the blink of an eye, things go from bad to worse.

“Shane,” a muffled familiar voice calls out, loud enough to reach the bedroom.

Shane’s heart kicks into gear, hammering against his chest. They’ve just gone from unexpected Amazon delivery guy to Hayden fucking Pike real quick.

“Who is that?” Ilya asks, his body swaying closer to the door as if on instinct.

The knocking continues, and Shane does the only thing he can think to do right now with Ilya still holding onto him, a towel wrapped around his waist. It’s not his finest idea; it would probably rank similarly to I’m clearing my head.

Which Hayden didn’t give a fuck about, apparently.

He unhands himself from Ilya, sliding the closet door they’d just clattered into open. “Get in.”

Ilya’s eyes widen, flicking from where Shane is holding the door to the very spacious closet that Ilya can absolutely hide in with ease while he gets rid of Hayden. It’s bigger than some of the hotel rooms they’re assigned to.

“You are putting me back in the closet?” Ilya asks flatly, still standing there, still in a towel.

“You’re not out of the closet, that’s the point,” Shane grits out, gesturing him in impatiently.

The knocking starts up again, and Shane realizes right then that he’s not above shoving Ilya in this closet. He seemed to be the only one with any survival instincts.

“This is very un-modern of you, Shane,” Ilya mumbles, stepping into the closet. “Like something Crowell would do.”

“That’s not funny,” Shane scolds, watching Ilya settle in the chair the designer had suggested they add. Shane had gone along with it, and it’s a good job he had because where would Ilya sit if not? The floor? Now that would be terrible. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks then, something about Ilya sitting there alone tugging at his heartstrings like one of those puppy commercials.

Ilya shrugs, glancing around him quickly and then back at Shane. “I might suffocate.”

“You’re not going to suffocate—” He looks over his shoulder toward the window. “I’ll crack the window.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay, so I’m just gonna—” He slides the door closed, waiting a few seconds.

Then he turns in place, scrambling for the t-shirt and sweats he’d thrown off, and then neatly folded on the dresser last night, pulling them back on before pocketing his phone. Project get Hayden Pike the fuck out of here commences.

After keeping his promise and cracking the window, he walks down the stairs, the knocking still incessant, Hayden’s voice ringing out a desperate plea of Shane every couple of seconds. He looks down at his outfit, hoping he looks more sleep rumpled and less hiding Boston Lily, oh wait, Boston Ilya in my house after lying to my teammates about what I was doing this week, rumpled. As he’s passing, his eyes catch on the Rozanov jersey still hanging over the back of the couch, and his heart trips over itself. That’s a problem, and one he wouldn’t even know how to talk himself out of.

It was a joke?

A prank?

A wrong shipment? Why would he be buying his own jersey, and why would they have mixed it up with Ilya’s?

His eyes flick to the door as he makes a beeline for the couch, flinging the fabric over the back. He makes a note to himself to retrieve it the second Hayden is gone; otherwise, it will stay there for the foreseeable future. And then who knows who will find it?

He pulls the door open, trying his best to look less violent and more… pleasantly surprised about this unexpected visit.

“Shane,” Hayden greets enthusiastically, thrusting something into Shane’s hands in a movement so quick that he doesn’t catch what it is until he looks down, blinking.

It’s a large container of some kind of soup. He looks back at Hayden. “What is this?”

“Soup—” He shuffles past Shane, looking back over his shoulder when he adds, “Jackie’s famous soup.”

Shane looks from the open door to where Hayden is walking further inside, and then down at the soup again for good measure. He pushes the door closed, no choice but to follow Hayden. His plan was to get him out of here before he’d passed the threshold, but now he was curious about the soup. Ilya would be fine for a second. Project find out why he’s holding what feels like a gallon of soup commences. It’s a quick detour.

“Why do I have soup?” he asks, starting them off strong.

“She thinks you’re sick,” Hayden says, stopping when he gets to the kitchen. He leans against the counter. “It’s really good. She only makes it for me when I’m on my deathbed. Your temperature has to max out before she even considers it.” He tips his chin, his look more serious than Shane’s ever seen when he says, “You’re fucking lucky, man.”

Shane blinks at him and briefly wonders if he looks like he has some kind of fever. “I don’t have a fever—” He slides the soup on the side, then turns back to Hayden. “I’m not sick.”

“I told her you were a little—” He rotates his hand in the air. “Under the weather.”

Oh god. He had told a lie that had turned into another lie. One that wasn’t even entirely his fault. This was all Hayden. He’d gone from recharging to sick with a fever in twenty four hours flat. It might be a new record.

“So you didn’t think to correct her at any point?”

Hayden’s brow furrows. “Not when the sweet taste of that soup was on the line.”

Shane huffs a noise of disbelief, rounding the counter to put the soup in the fridge. It was sweet, even if the reason for it hadn’t been entirely right. “Tell her I appreciate it—”

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Hayden interrupts, something in his tone making Shane pause uneasily. He closes the fridge quickly, turning at the exact moment Hayden picks up a discarded can of Coke from the counter, holding it out and squinting at it like he’s never seen such a thing. His eyes flick back up to Shane, narrowing. “Since when do you like Coke?”

And the thing about that question is, for anyone else, probably in the entire world, it would have been an easy fix. I like Coke now! Delicious!

But the problem is, he was Shane Hollander, and anyone who knew Shane Hollander knew his drink of choice was ginger ale. It was unheard of for him to have anything else; in fact, it was probably considered highly suspicious to anyone he’d had more than a handful of conversations with to have a can of something that isn’t ginger ale just sitting on his counter. Right there, out in the open. When the recycling bin was right behind him. It was as suspicious as the jersey that was still crumpled in a heap down the back of his couch. Probably as suspicious as the man hiding in his closet. Metaphorically and physically.

“I like Coke,” is what he manages after a brief second of sheer terror, his heart back to hammering in his chest uncomfortably. He just had to style it out.

“No, you don’t.” Hayden smirks. “Don’t you remember that one time J.J. bought you a Coke, and you told him—”

Shane leans forward, taking the can from Hayden’s hand. Then, he does what any sane and rational person would do. He takes a sip of the very flat Coke that has been sitting out since last night. He blinks, forcefully swallowing. Then, he makes a humming noise that he hopes sounds appreciative.

Hayden blinks at him, his eyes flicking from the can to Shane again. “Okay,” he says as Shane slides the Coke back on the counter.

Well, now that’s out of the way. Back to project remove Hayden Pike from his kitchen. “Thank you again for the—”

Hayden reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone, cutting him off as he starts tapping around the screen like he has all the time in the world. “We’re remodeling the kitchen.” He pauses his swiping, looking up seriously. “Jackie’s idea. Happy wife, happy life, you know?”

“Uh, yeah. Course,” Shane manages, eyes flicking back toward the stairs. More like an unhappy boyfriend, he was about to meet his end. He’s starting to feel a little bad. He needs to speed this up. Just as he’s debating coughing into his hand, playing on some fast-acting virus that has hit him in the last five minutes, Hayden continues, none the wiser.

“So she’s sold on marble, and I can’t argue with that—” Hayden’s hand darts out to swipe along Shane’s counter. “This is nice. Do you mind if I take a picture?”

“That’s fine.” Shane quickly nods, watching Hayden hold his phone above the kitchen counter, having his very own photoshoot. It’s the least he could do, what with the soup sitting in his fridge.

After thirty pictures from several angles, Hayden settles back against the side, apparently not done. “I love the marble idea, but there are so many fucking colors. Whose fucking idea was that? Apparently, there’s a difference between—” He holds his phone out, open to a picture of a slab of beige marble. Shane focuses on it, tipping his chin. Hayden swipes to a second picture. “And that? What the fuck, man? She’s been asking me which I prefer all week— Hey. That’s her now.” He swipes the notification away, turning the phone back.

It’s still beige marble, but the tones are definitely different. If Shane had to guess. “I think the second is better—”

A loud thud sounds out from above them, and they both turn toward the stairs, Hayden in confusion, Shane in barely concealed panic. He decides that now is the perfect time to circle back on that idea from before, forcing out a cough into his fist as if that will magically muffle the booming sound that had just come from his bedroom. Hayden takes no notice of Shane’s attempted distraction, turning back toward him, his eyebrows pulling together.

“What the fuck was that?” he whispers.

“It was, uh, probably nothing,” Shane replies confidently, walking around the counter to finally dispose of the can of Coke. How Ilya had had two strikes from the chair in the closet, a whole floor away, Shane had no idea. His next plan was to wing it. If he said it was nothing with enough confidence, surely Hayden would just… believe him?

Hayden watches him for a few seconds, his eyes flicking down to his rumpled t-shirt, and then back up.

“What?” Shane asks, opening one of the drawers and looking in it for a few seconds. He’s trying to look busy so Hayden might get the hint. But of course, he’s not that lucky. Not today, with Hayden Pike standing across from him like the world's worst fucking detective.

“Is there somebody here?” Hayden asks.

“Yeah. You,” Shane tries, punctuating it with a very un-casual laugh.

Hayden keeps watching him, and Shane’s thoughts start toppling headfirst into each other, searching for some kind of excuse. After a few torturous seconds, he lands on, “something probably fell over.”

“Like what?”

Shane shrugs, leaning against the opposite counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “So which marble for the—”

“It’s fucking—” Hayden looks over his shoulder as if he’s making sure the coast is clear, then turns back, lowering his voice to a hiss. “Boston Lily, isn’t it?”

Shane’s brain short-circuits. Every excuse he’d been circling disappears, his head empty. All he can do is blink at Hayden, swallowing thickly.

“Is it serious?” Hayden prods.

Shane opens his mouth, then closes it again, still not firing on all fronts. “Uh.”

“It fucking is, oh my god.” Hayden rounds the counter, standing in front of him, breaking out into a satisfied grin. “Holy shit—” He bumps his fist into his shoulder. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“No, not like that. I didn’t think you’d ever introduce us. You were so secretive. I was coming to terms with never knowing the famous Lily. Which, by the way, was devastating to Jackie. She’s been working on getting her into the WAGs chat.”

“She’s been what?” Shane croaks out. Ilya is in his closet, and Hayden is standing in his kitchen talking about Boston Lily like Ilya’s teammates talk about Montreal Jane. He’s pretty sure he needs to crack another window. Maybe every single window in this damn apartment. Had he and Ilya somehow created the biggest conspiracy theory in the MLH?

“Everyone wants to meet Lily,” Hayden says, pulling Shane back to the conversation. “J.J. is going to be so jealous I got to meet her first.”

“What makes you think I’m introducing you now?” Shane asks, and he’s pretty sure he’s scowling if the way Hayden laughs is anything to go by.

“It would be rude not to.”

“It would be pretty hard to introduce you to someone who isn’t here,” Shane says flatly, trying his best to keep his face neutral.

Hayden holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine.”

“It really was probably a lamp or something,” Shane adds, like a bow on a very terribly wrapped gift.

Hayden nods, the movements exaggerated. It’s as if he doesn’t believe a word Shane is saying. “Yeah, my lamps fall over all the time.”

Shane nods back. “Right.”

Hayden laughs again, pushing up from the counter finally. “I’m just glad you’re not here alone. I was worried about you.”

“Why the fuck were you worried?” Shane asks, following him out of the kitchen. He does a quick glance around the floor as they walk, half convinced another Rozanov jersey will have materialized in the last fifteen minutes, ready to catch him out.

“I thought you were holed up here alone agonizing over the loss.”

“When have I ever done that?” He’s a little offended.

Hayden pauses at the door, his hand clutched around the handle. They were so close. “When have you ever invited Boston Lily to spend your free week with you?”

Shane looks around them pointedly. “There’s no one here.”

“So I should be worried?” Hayden asks, the corner of his lip twitching with amusement.

“No. You don’t need to worry. I’m just…” Shane hesitates, then settles on “relaxing.”

Hayden laughs, pulling the door open. “I hope Lily likes soup.”

“Lily isn’t here,” Shane calls after him as he laughs his way down the hall.

Shane closes the door, flopping against it as he takes a few deep breaths. That had been close. Far too close. What if Hayden had gone investigating? What if he’d insisted on meeting Lily? Lily wasn’t here, but Ilya was. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, ready to do damage control.

I’m alone!

Tell Jackie thank you for the soup. I really appreciate it.

Hayden
😂😂😂
Perfect for date night!

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Shane huffs, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He needed to figure out a way to convince Hayden that Lily, or Ilya, wasn’t here. But that was a problem for later; right now, he has to go and free his boyfriend from a closet. He takes the stairs two at a time, borderline sprinting into his bedroom. He crosses the room, sliding the closet door back open. Ilya is rummaging through one of the rails, the towel in a heap on the floor, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his waist in its place.
He turns from his perusal, raising an unhappy eyebrow. “You could not hurry him out faster?”

“It was fifteen minutes,” Shane defends, but he does feel a little guilty. “He was asking my opinion on counter colors.”

“Oh yes.” Ilya nods. “Oak wood is perfect. My boyfriend is locked in a closet—”

“It was marble, actually. And it wasn’t locked,” Shane points out, sliding the door an inch as if to prove it. “What was the noise?”

“I had to use the chair to reach up there.” Ilya points to one of the higher shelves where Shane keeps some of his old hockey stuff from when he was a kid. He bites back a smile at the thought of Ilya standing on a chair, snooping through his stuff. Anyone else, he’d probably, definitely have been annoyed, but with Ilya, it filled him with a warm feeling instead. He wanted Ilya everywhere, in every corner of this apartment, including the closet. Clearly.

“You have a lot of closet space,” Ilya says simply, his eyes flicking back around his prison.

“So you were just rummaging?” Shane asks. See, it had been fine. Shane had left him with enrichment.

Ilya ignores that, turning back to continue his snooping, clearly not minding that he’d exposed his crimes. He runs a hand along the rail of very similar t-shirts. “Why do you have so many of the same thing?”

Shane shrugs. “If I think a t-shirt is comfortable enough, I buy more.”

Ilya hums, leaning forward to part the t-shirts on the rail. “There is probably enough room for my jersey in here.”

“What?” Shane huffs. There was always time to circle back from that warm feeling to annoyance. They had all week after all.

Ilya turns, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looks at Shane, his eyes bouncing around his face in a way that makes him squirm. “This is how you can repay me—”

“No way, asshole.” Shane shakes his head. He does make a mental note to go and retrieve the jersey from behind the couch, though. They needed to find a place for it, preferably back in Ilya’s bag. Or maybe the trash.

“It would look so nice between your seven white t-shirts,” Ilya hums thoughtfully.

“You are literally wearing one of my seven pairs of sweatpants.”

Ilya looks down at the sweatpants, then back at Shane. “Prisoners do not choose their prison outfit.”

Shane does huff a laugh at that, just for the sheer absurdity of it. “Would it make you feel better if I were in the closet with you?” he asks.

Ilya sighs dramatically. “Maybe.”

Shane steps into the closet pointedly, then turns and slides the door closed behind him, locking them back in. He’s hardly made it across the floor before Ilya’s hands are back on his jaw, exactly as they’d been before Hayden had cockblocked them, tilting his face to meet him in a heated kiss, no time for any of the gentleness from earlier. Shane almost sighs with relief, all of the concerns he seems to have collected in the kitchen replaced by Ilya’s hands tugging his t-shirt off, trailing down his sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps that make Shane shiver in pleasure.

“Wait,” he breathes, pulling back to look at Ilya seriously, needing to ask before he forgets. “Do you like soup?”

“This is good soup,” Ilya says, lifting the spoon to his mouth. He hums appreciatively as he swallows, shifting on the chair to watch Shane.

Shane nods in agreement, his eyes flicking to the phone on the counter between them as he takes his own bite. The groupchat he has with Hayden and J.J. has been blowing up since Hayden left. He’s yet to venture in. He had more important things to do first, like closet sex and soup. Hayden might think he’s having a romantic week with Boston Lily, he might be completely convinced and currently playing amateur detectives with J.J., but who cares? Shane has soup. And Boston Ilya.

Well. That was a lie. He actually cared a lot. As soon as he was finished with this bowl, he was going to text Hayden. About thanking Jackie and about him being completely alone. Just him and his lonely soup, to drive the point home a little more.

Ilya slurps from beside him, his gaze dropping to Shane’s phone when the screen lights up for the third time in the last minute. Shane finally picks it up. He guesses now is as good a time as any to see what exactly he’s dealing with.

“Hayden?” Ilya asks, not sounding all that interested as he spoons more soup into his mouth.

“Yeah. Uh—” Shane’s pretty sure he winces as he looks from the phone to Ilya finally. “He thinks Boston Lily is staying here.”

Ilya huffs a surprised laugh. “What makes him think that?”

Shane pauses, eyes flicking to his soup like it’s evidence of the statement before he says, “I don’t think I can lie very well.”

Ilya’s mouth tugs into a soft smile, and he leans forward, puckering his lips at Shane. Shane kisses him, the phone's text tone dinging in his hand the whole time like the world's worst backing track. Ilya runs a hand down the back of Shane’s head. “You are a very bad liar.” He shrugs. “Is cute.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here, so,” Shane points out. He can’t be that bad of a liar.

Ilya looks at him seriously. “I am Lily.”

Shane ignores that, continuing the harrowing story that was Hayden Pike and a lead. “He thought I was sick.” He gestures to the bowls in front of them. “Sick equals soup, I guess, thanks to Jackie.”

Ilya nods. “Very good soup.”

“Then he thought I was depressed because of the game, and then you made a noise with the chair—” Shane shoots him a pointed look. “—and he came to the conclusion that Lily had to be here.”

“He is not a very good guesser then,” Ilya says. “What is he saying? That there has to be someone very hot staying here, or you would not ghost your beloved Hayden for a whole week?”

“He’s saying that I need to introduce him to her,” Shane tells him, almost shivering at the memory. How had he landed himself an imaginary girlfriend? He shakes his head, pulling open the groupchat, eyes skimming the ramblings of his dear, very stupid friends.

Hayden
We need to figure this the fuck out.
J.J.
She’s from Boston
Hayden
What the fuck would I do without you?
J.J.
Sherlock Holmes had to start somewhere
Rome wasn’t built in a day
Hayden
She likes coca cola
J.J.
How the fuck do you know that?
Hayden
There was a can left on the counter and Shane got real weird about it. He took a sip and told me he likes coke now but his face got all scrunched up like he found it disgusting
Suspicious. I'm going to ask Jackie if she has a notebook so I can note it down
J.J.
That’s not the Shane I know!

ㅤ

Ilya huffs a laugh from where he’s reading over his shoulder, and Shane decides to jump in to try and do some crowd control for these amateur detectives.
You do know I’m in this chat?

ㅤ

Hayden
Shane! How is Lily?
J.J.
Tell her we said hey
Hayden
Add her to the chat
What the fuck? Definitely not.

I don’t know how Lily is

Because I’m here alone trying to relax. But you guys are blowing up my phone

Hayden
Just one hint?
A hint about what?

Hayden
You don’t follow her on Insta. You don’t follow anyone called Lily

J.J.
I checked too. I also checked for anyone called Liliana or Lillia or Lillith
I don’t even follow you guys on Instagram

Hayden
You’re not dating us

I’m not dating Lily!

ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“They’re ridiculous,” Shane huffs, sliding the phone back on the counter, taking a quick bite of soup. He only had so much time before he was called back to play some kind of mediator between these two dumbasses.

“They would make shitty detectives,” Ilya says, that amused smile still on his face. “Marleau is a dumbass, no chance he will ever figure it out. If you gave Hayden five years and help from Jackie, then maybe.”

Before Shane can say anything to that, the text tone dings again. They both lean over and read the screen.

Hayden
Shane does she like the soup? Jackie is asking. You know you can’t deny my soup queen
@Shane Hollander
I can add Jackie
Don’t do that.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤㅤ
ㅤ

“Send back a picture of two bowls of soup,” Ilya says.

Shane’s eyes flick from the phone. “Why would I do that? That would just convince them more.”

Ilya shrugs. “They are already convinced.”

Shane’s thumbs hover over the keyboard, thinking it through. It’s true. There’s no way he’s going to be able to convince his two teammates that Boston Lily isn’t here. That ship had sailed a long time ago, probably around the time he’d drunk from a flat can of Coke. Why not have some fun with it?

Shane leans to push Ilya’s soup bowl further onto the counter so there’s no near misses with Ilya’s hand in the corner of the picture or something equally as stupid. Ilya takes the cue and scoots back. Shane pulls the camera up and snaps a quick photo, angling it so both bowls of soup are visible.

He turns the phone to Ilya, and Ilya huffs a laugh, nodding his approval. “Very romantic date for Shane and Lily.”

Shane doesn’t second-guess it; he just sends the picture to the chat and places the phone on the counter between them again. The text bubbles immediately pop up.

Hayden
HOLY SHIT

J.J.
BOSTON LILY LIKES JACKIE’S SOUP
🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨
Hayden
Jackie is going to be so fucking excited

Okay. So she likes coke and soup. Writing that down in the notebook Jackie gave me

J.J.
And most importantly she likes Shane

Tell Jackie the soup is delicious.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

It turns out that Shane has opened a can of worms, and he surprisingly has no desire to close it again. Hayden and J.J., who apparently had far too much free time on their hands, had been playing detective since the soup picture last night. Shane didn’t know exactly what they were trying to find, but the good thing was that they weren’t getting anywhere close to the truth because 1) there was a reason they were hockey players and not working for the FBI, and 2) Lily didn’t exist. There was nothing to uncover. They were going around in circles, zooming in on a picture of two soup bowls, as if it had all the answers. It was funny. And even more dumb.

Shane is tugging his running shorts on when his phone starts up again, an incessant dinging not all that dissimilar from Hayden’s knocking yesterday. At least he was consistent. He grabs it from the chair that hadn’t managed to make it out of the closet situation unscathed, the leg sitting at a funny angle. He quickly skims the screen, absentmindedly pulling a jacket from the rail as he does.

Hayden
Send me a picture

Of what?

J.J.
We need to check something

Have you guys always finished each other sentences or is that a new development?

Hayden
Sherlock Holmes always had his sidekick

J.J.
Fuck you. I think you mean partner. We have equal say in this

A picture of what?

Me?

Hayden
Sure. Whatever you’re doing right now

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Shane shakes his head, then quickly switches to the camera to snap a selfie in the mirror in the closet. It’s a little awkward, his jacket slung over his arm, but he sends it off anyway, watching the familiar typing bubbles that had taken a brief break to sleep appear again.

Hayden
Bingo.

What could you possibly tell from that picture?

Hayden
She likes running! You’re going running with her.

What would you be able to tell if I sent you a picture of my breakfast?

Hayden
That she likes the shitty oatmeal no one else in the world likes. A match made in heaven

J.J.
This is too easy

Sure. Tell me when you figure out who she is.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Shane slides the phone into his pocket and leaves the closet. Ilya is still in bed, the covers pooling around his waist. He peeks over the arm slung over his head when Shane shuts the door. “You are leaving me?”

Shane walks over to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress. He reaches a hand out, and Ilya tangles their fingers together, a pleasant warmth settling over Shane’s skin. “I’m going for a run. Do you want to come?”

It’s just a formality, really. They both know Ilya will say no, mostly because it wouldn't make sense for them to run together in Montreal. But also because he clearly has no plans to move from this bed until he has to.

Ilya shakes his head, his curls flopping against the pillow. “No. I am on vacation.”

“Be up when I get back,” Shane says, leaning over to look down at him.

“Have the shitty detectives figured out who Lily is yet?”

“They’re still working on it. They have nothing better to do.”

Ilya hums in agreement, reaching out to the nightstand to tilt his phone toward him. “Marleau is the same.” He lets the phone drop back with an indelicate clatter. “He texted me again saying he hopes I enjoy my week. And then another asking when I will be back.” Ilya makes a tutting noise in his throat. “Like clingy fucking girlfriend.”

Before Shane can say anything, Ilya pushes up from the pillow, displacing the covers more as he takes his sweet time stealing a few kisses before he flops back down with a huff. “Are you sure you want to go on a run?” His eyes travel from Shane’s face down his body, and Shane really does second-guess it when he says, “We could be doing so many other things. Much more exciting, but probably with same outcome.”

Shane looks at him right back, hoping he has the same effect. “The same outcome?”

Ilya makes a show of thinking about it, his head rolling to the side of the pillow. “Sweaty.”

Shane tries to bat at Ilya’s chest, but because their hands are still joined, it isn’t all that successful. “Gross. I need to shower when I get back.”

Ilya looks up at Shane, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. Illegal plays were happening in this bed right now. “We could use the shower, or the bed, or the closet again if you want. Was fun.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “We’re not doing that again. I’m pretty sure the chair is going to rock every time I sit in it now.”

“No more spontaneous fucks?” Ilya asks flatly, halfway to a groan.

“I didn’t say that, I said not in the—”

“Oh, perfect,” Ilya says lowly, pulling Shane back to him. “This bed is good,” he murmurs against his neck.

Shane lets Ilya ravish him for a second before he pulls back, patting him on the chest like an apology for daring to go on a run. “It’s designed to eliminate back pain.”

Ilya huffs a soft laugh, hand coming up to rest on Shane’s cheek. “Is that why you do not have back pain after the closet?”

Shane tips his head to place a kiss on Ilya’s hand, then stands from the bed, slipping his jacket that had fallen to the floor on. “Probably.”

Shane’s phone had not stopped vibrating in his pocket for his entire run. Every pound of his foot against the concrete was followed by an incessant and honestly distracting buzzing against his leg. He’d opted to ignore it, picking up his pace, chalking it down to Hayden and J.J. zooming in on the corner of his counter and coming to some kind of conclusion that made no sense.

He finally slides his phone back out as he enters his building, ready to check out what conspiracy theories they’d created in the last hour. He’s half expecting them to be begging for another picture to dissect. He could send them a selfie from the stairwell and see what they could come up with. Maybe Boston Lily liked stairs? That’s the level of intellect he was working with from the amateur detectives.

Shane opens the text thread, and he’s pretty sure his brain error 404s at what stares back at him, his entire world halting like a record scratch right there in the stairwell.

Huh?

He blinks down at the picture filling his screen, half convinced he’s imagining things as his hand darts out to the wall to keep himself steady. What the fuck?

What he’s looking at isn’t a request for another awkward selfie, or a random Instagram of someone named Lily, or a zoomed-in picture of a bowl of soup. It’s a jersey in the background of his own selfie. A painfully familiar jersey that had made it into his closet in the end, pushed in right between his seven of the same t-shirts. Not only that, the name was visible on the back, hanging proudly in the gap he’d left when he pulled the jacket he was wearing from the hanger. It was right there in the open for anyone to see. For Hayden and J.J. to see. Holy shit.

He blinks at the screen for a few more seconds, trying to calm himself down as he starts to scroll through the ridiculous amount of texts he’d missed.

Hayden
She likes running

I still think this is a Shane thing. He loves to be secretive but there’s no way Lily wouldn’t want to be friends with Jackie. The gossip in the WAGs chat is next fucking level

J.J.
How do you know that? I didn’t even know there was a WAGs chat

Hayden
So I’m told

It’s a secret

J.J.
I bet you scroll through it with her every fucking night

Hayden
It’s juicy stuff. They watch the games together and criticize us behind our backs

J.J.
😂😂😂

You know too much for your own good

Hayden
They do

Wait

J.J.
Have you found a lead?

Hayden
Is that a fucking jersey?

J.J.
Where

Phone the press! Shane Hollander has a Shane Hollander jersey lying around

😱😱😱😱😱

Hayden
No dumbass

Top right

Zoom

It’s a raiders jersey

J.J.
No it’s not

Why would he have a raiders jersey

Hayden
It is

J.J.
Is that a fucking Rozanov jersey?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Shane locks the phone, banishing the texts back to the abyss. Then he goes a step further and slides his phone back into his pocket. If it were possible, he’s pretty sure he’d throw it into the fucking ocean. He can’t deal with that right now, or maybe ever.

He could just never use his phone again. People survive without phones, right? Of course they do. It might be his only option here.

He shifts on the stairs, his heart rate defying all odds and somehow speeding up even more as he turns, jogging the rest of the way up. He barges into his door like a man being chased, slamming it behind him like he can shut the last thirty seconds out.

“Shane?” Ilya calls, his head popping up from over the couch. If Shane weren’t pretty sure he was halfway to a heartattack, it would be kind of funny. “Where the fuck did you run?” Ilya asks, his eyes trailing his body.

“Ilya,” Shane hisses, pushing up from the door to kick his shoes off haphazardly, all of his focus on the still vibrating phone sitting in his pocket. A phone that holds a picture that exposes them. A picture he’d sent to Hayden and J.J. Oh god—

“Do you have fever?” Ilya asks, his gaze flicking to the shoes in the middle of the floor. Shane’s aware he’s being a hypocrite; if Ilya had left his shoes out like that, he’d have made him go back and rectify it before he hit the kitchen, but they had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Ilya,” Shane says again, his voice no less strained as he crosses the floor to stand in front of the couch.

Ilya blinks up at him, eyes travelling over his face, his eyebrows pulling together. “What?”

Shane doesn’t know how to explain this; he doesn’t think he could find the words if he had all the dictionaries in the world, so instead he pulls his still-vibrating phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and thrusts it at Ilya wordlessly.

Ilya blinks at him some more as the phone tumbles into his lap, confusion contorting his features. “What?” he says again, eyes landing on the device that Shane is considering throwing out of the window. That would be a quick fix, right?

“Read it,” he instructs, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

Ilya picks the phone up, dragging his worried gaze from Shane to the open text thread. It only takes a torturous couple of seconds before his eyes widen, his eyebrows inching up his forehead as his lips part slightly. Shane watches as he scrolls, presumably reading through Hayden and J.J.’s detective roleplay.

Ilya huffs a sudden laugh, and then schools his features, pulling his mouth into a flat line. Shane doesn’t know if it’s because he thinks he’d be offended or if Ilya doesn’t want even Shane to know that he could, under any circumstances, find Hayden funny. It was a toss-up.

“What are they saying?” he asks, his resolve crumbling. He leans forward to peer over the phone, trying to make out what the incoming texts say upside down.
Ilya’s eyes flick up. “You did not read it?”

“No, I did. Sort of. I saw what I needed to get the general idea,” Shane explains.

Ilya locks the phone and slides it onto the couch cushion, lifting his head to look at Shane, his voice unimpressed when he says, “They are very stupid.”

A breath of relief leaves Shane in an almost painful whoosh. “So they don’t know?”

“They—” Ilya pauses as if he’s thinking his words over. “—have abandoned Lily to figure out why you have the enemy's jersey.” He tips his chin, and Shane can see the smirk he’s doing his best to stifle. “Their words, not mine.”

Okay, that was probably what Ilya had been laughing at. Shane rounds the couch and flops down, closing his eyes. He might need to practice deep-breathing techniques to get him through this.

“This is bad,” he says, mostly to himself. “Like really bad. Why the fuck would I have your jersey? What do I even say to explain that?” He lets his head thunk to the back of the couch, groaning up at the ceiling.

There’s a half-second pause, and then Ilya says, “Maybe because you are obsessed with the captain—”

Shane’s head shoots up, eyes snapping open to glare at Ilya. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Ilya says, eyes widening.

Shane gestures to the phone that’s still buzzing between them. “Why would you bring a jersey here?”

“So I can not bring anything in case you need to thirst trap—”

“Thirst trap? To Hayden?”

“You did not send it to me,” Ilya says, and he’s inching toward offended.

“You saw me naked like three minutes before I took it,” Shane throws back with another glare.

Ilya huffs, turning away from Shane to face forward. Shane does the same. They both stare at the blank TV for a few minutes, Shane panicking and Ilya probably stewing over the fact he wasn’t graced with the ‘thirst trap’. Shane breaks first, picking up the phone and scrolling through the notifications piling up. He’s not brave enough to throw himself back in there, and he was still considering changing his name and leaving the country, but from what he could see, they hadn’t figured out why he actually had Ilya’s jersey.

The reason is that his boyfriend is an asshole.

“I think you can talk yourself out of it,” Ilya says then, breaking the silence.

Shane looks up from the phone. “You said I’m a bad liar.”

Ilya hums thoughtfully, shuffling over so his thigh is touching Shane’s. Shane’s grateful for the contact, the closeness settling his nerves just slightly. Ilya looks at him seriously. “They think Lily is Raiders superfan, and that is why she is a secret.”

Shane’s mouth drops open. Well, that’s certainly an explanation they could come to with the limited evidence they had. “They do?”

Ilya nods. “I told you, they are very stupid.”

“How long can we do this?” Shane asks suddenly. He didn’t even know he’d been thinking about it until it had tumbled out, and now it was there, out in the open, and he felt vulnerable and a little scared. He kind of wanted to stuff the words back inside and pretend he hadn’t said them. It wasn’t something he thought about often, but when he did, it sat inside his chest like a hot coal, almost painful.

Ilya’s head turns, something uncertain swimming in his eyes as they narrow. “What are you saying?”

Shane groans again. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. Just ignore me.”

There are a few seconds of silence, and Ilya looks like he’s second-guessing if he’d heard the words right. “Shane.”

“I didn’t mean that—”

“You want to tell them?” Ilya asks, and it’s not judgmental, just curious.

Shane throws the buzzing phone back across the couch. They don’t need to think about that right now, not when he’d just decided to open this can of worms on a whim instead.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Sometimes, maybe.” He looks down at where their thighs are pressed together, and his chest warms. “I guess I just think about when we do, uh, come out?” The words come out like a question, but Ilya just nods, urging him on. “When we come out for real, they’ll think back to that fucking picture and realize I lied to them.”

“It is more complicated than that—”

“I know, I know that. But also.” Shane shrugs, not even sure where he’s going with this. “It’s not like we can just tell them.”

“We can tell them,” Ilya says, and Shane’s heart starts up that familiar thud in his chest. It sits in the air for a second, like they’re both surprised he said it, until Ilya adds, “or you can tell them about you.”

“I think it would be better to do both at the same time, like ripping the band-aid off, right?” Shane says, probably too quickly. They were talking in hypotheticals, for something in the future. They had to be, because Shane couldn’t fathom a world where this was something that could happen soon.

Ilya nods. “If you tell Hayden the second part later, he might have a heart attack.” He pulls a face. “He imagines you with nice Metros fanboy, and I show up.”

Shane huffs a laugh at that, some of that tension disappearing. “At least they’re already getting used to the idea that I’m with a Raiders fangirl.”

“A Raiders fangirl obsessed with me,” Ilya corrects smugly. He shifts to the side, sprawling out on the couch, tugging Shane with him until they’re chest to chest. His lips tug into a soft smile, and then, he’s tipping his chin and meeting Shane in a heated kiss, his tongue slipping past his lips. It’s probably far too heated for this exact moment, seconds after a spiral about coming out, but Shane won’t be the one to complain.

Shane pulls back first, glaring down at Ilya again. “No one said obsessed with—”

Ilya cuts him off with another kiss, then he pulls back as if he’d just remembered something, tilting his head as he looks at him seriously. “You are the obsessed fangirl.”

Shane huffs, but stays right where he is under Ilya’s steady gaze, nowhere else he’d rather be, even with a buzzing phone trapped somewhere underneath them. “No one said that.”

“The jersey is in your closet,” Ilya points out helpfully.

As if Shane would ever forget that specific jersey in that specific closet for as long as he lived. “You put it there.”

“Yes. To memorialize my experience. Like man on the moon who put the flag there.”

“Are you comparing sitting in a huge closet for fifteen minutes to going to the fucking moon?” Shane asks.

Ilya nods solemnly. “Yes.”

Shane shifts, tucking himself in the gap between the back of the couch and Ilya’s body. He rests his head on his shoulder, still turning this new idea over. “Would you really be okay if I told them?”

“Do you trust them?”

Shane thinks it through for a second, then tips his chin in a nod. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Ilya runs a hand down his back, settling on his hip. “Then yes.”

Ilya looks down at the bowl in front of him, then to Shane, suspicion written all over his face. “What the fuck is that?”

Shane slides his own bowl onto the counter and sits down. “It’s oatmeal.”

Ilya peeks over at Shane’s bowl. “Who eats this?”

“Me, it’s delicious,” Shane tells him, spooning oatmeal into his mouth to hide the smile he’s biting back, remembering the text from Hayden yesterday about Lily probably liking his gross oatmeal. His eyes flick to Ilya, who is studying his own bowl. Not quite.

Ilya slides off the chair, going to rummage in the cupboards. “Have you thought any more about breaking the big news to Hayden— Ah! Shane Hollander, you are a dark horse.”

Shane’s eyes flick up to Ilya, dragging an abandoned jar of Nutella out of the open cupboard. He didn’t even know he had that. “Check the expiration date,” he warns.

Ilya shakes his head. “That poor excuse for oatmeal will kill me before this does.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “There’s bread— What the fuck?”

“What?” Ilya asks, looking up from where he’s dolloping lumps of Nutella into his bowl.

“Nothing,” Shane says, eating another spoonful. “And yes, I have.” He watches Ilya slide back onto the chair, finally digging into his modified oatmeal. “Thought more about telling Hayden,” he clarifies, taking another bite to buy himself some time.

Ilya nods. “Okay, and you probably have a plan, yes?”

Shane swallows, trying to drop the tension he knows is plastered all over his face. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work, so he dives in anyway. “I was thinking over dinner.” He’s trying to keep his voice casual, like this is something they do all the time, and not something he thought about the whole night, tossing and turning while Ilya had snored next to him.

Ilya hums. “Like a coming out party—”

“First rule, we’re not calling it that.”

“Okay. Coming out dinner,” Ilya amends.

“Dinner,” Shane confirms. “We can order in, and I’ll call him and tell him I have some news to share.”

“Are you going to warn him?”

“About what?” There are so many things that Shane probably should warn Hayden about that he can’t even begin to guess which exactly Ilya is referring to.

Ilya drops his spoon into his gross oatmeal, gesturing toward himself. “Or am I going to appear and say surprise.” He outstretches his fingers, making an exploding noise under his breath. “I am fucking your friend.”

“I think we need to ease him into it—” Shane pauses, thinking it through. “Would it be less weird to just say it— Not like that,” he clarifies when Ilya smirks at him.

Ilya huffs a laugh, picking his spoon back up, digging it into a glob of Nutella. “Do not tell him the second he walks through the door, it would be a hazard if he faints on the hardwood.”

Shane laughs, probably for the first time all morning. “Okay, you’re right,” he agrees, “and I probably should warn him.”

It was a better idea than letting his best friend show up expecting to meet Boston Lily and find Ilya sprawled on the couch instead. That was a lot to take in.
“Tonight?” Ilya asks.

Shane nods, his mouth going a little dry. He shoves another spoonful of oatmeal in, but that just makes it worse. He swallows thickly. “I think maybe. Uh, yes.”

“Okay,” Ilya agrees easily, a hand coming out to rest on Shane’s thigh. He can probably tell he hasn’t stopped freaking out since yesterday, a low thrum of stress buzzing over his skin. “So, tonight, if he is not busy?” he checks.

“He’s still searching Instagram for anybody within a hundred-mile radius of Boston called Lily. He’s not busy,” Shane huffs. Surprisingly, they’d taken Boston Lily being a Rozanov superfan in their stride, which gave him some semblance of hope that the gay and in love with Rozanov thing would go down similarly. They were halfway there with the jersey. What’s one more thing in the shape of his rival?

“How does he have so much time when he has seven thousand kids?” Ilya asks.

“I have no idea. He sent me a famous dog called Lily paws yesterday and told me he’d fallen down a rabbit hole.”

Ilya’s spoon clatters into his bowl. “Send me the dog.”

“Okay,” Shane agrees, biting back his smile, making a mental note to send a link after breakfast.

Ilya nods, picking his spoon back up.

“I’ll buy some nice wine,” Shane continues, suddenly feeling the need to speak aloud every thought in his head. He thinks better that way; it helps him formulate a plan. And tonight's plan wasn’t a lot, but it was something he could follow when his thoughts started spinning out of control.

“Bribery,” Ilya mutters, but the corner of his lip twitches as his eyes flick from his bowl to Shane, his fingers wrapping tighter around his knee.

Shane lets his hand fall to rest over Ilya’s. “Not bribery. Just an incentive.”

“Are you going to cut him off from the wine if he is homophobic?”

“He’s not homophobic,” Shane counters semi-confidently.

God. He could be. But Shane was pretty sure he wasn’t.

“Are you going to cut him off the wine if he is Ilyaphobic?” Ilya asks then.

Shane digs back into his oatmeal with his free hand, spoon hovering by his mouth as he looks at Ilya, and says, “I can guarantee he’s Ilyaphobic.”

“Are you sure we should do this?” Shane asks, holding the phone between them like it’s a live grenade about to blow.

“Yes,” Ilya says, leaning forward to hover his finger over Hayden’s contact.

Shane yanks it out of his reach, locking the screen. “Wait. Should I count down? Or you can count down.”

“Okay. Eight, seven, six—”

“Who counts down from eight?”

Ilya shrugs. “Eighty one.”

Shane stares at him, trying to find the logic. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It is good luck,” Ilya says simply.

Shane shakes his head, pulling open his contacts again. They’d been going back and forth like this for the last twenty minutes, passing the phone between them. At one point, Shane had said fuck it and insisted Ilya call him, thrusting the ringing phone forward. Ilya’s mouth had dropped open, shoving the phone back into Shane’s hands. Shane had then nearly dropped the phone, ending the call before Hayden could answer.

“Okay.” Shane nods, gearing himself up. “You’re right. I’m just going to—”

The phone starts ringing between them, taking the decision out of their hands as Hayden’s ridiculous picture fills the screen. Shane freezes in place, eyes flicking back to Ilya, sudden panic gnawing at his gut. “What do we do?”

“Answer it,” Ilya hisses, reaching over and pressing the accept call button before Shane can throw the phone across the room.

“Shane?” the familiar voice comes through the line, making Shane grimace. He shoots a glare across the couch as Ilya shuffles toward the opposite arm, settling in with his hands behind his head like he’s about to watch his favorite show.

“Uh, yeah, Hay?” Shane starts, trying to keep his voice even. He quickly pulls the phone from his ear and switches it to speakerphone. Ilya shoots him a thumbs up.

“Hey, man, I just saw you called. I was bringing groceries in. Everything okay?”

Before he can say anything to that, Ilya mumbles something about Hayden finally getting off Instagram, and Shane kicks wherever he can reach, landing somewhere on Ilya’s calf. Ilya kicks back, wrapping his ankle around Shane’s, effectively trapping his leg against the couch.

“Oh, yeah,” Shane grits out. “Sorry, is now not a good time?”

It’s Ilya’s turn to glare at him. Shane glares right back. He was just being polite. Maybe Jackie needed help.

“No, now is fine. I’m hiding in the pantry.” Hayden laughs.

Okay, or not.

“We finally have something in common,” Ilya mutters from the corner of the couch.

And if Shane’s leg weren’t trapped, he’d kick Ilya’s ankle again. Instead, he settles for speaking louder, trying to drown him out. “Oh, uh, okay. Are you busy tonight?”

“Tonight? No, I don’t think— oh my god.” Hayden’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Am I meeting Lily?”

“No. No, definitely not,” Shane stammers. He looks at Ilya for help, but Ilya just shrugs, making a hand movement as if he’s telling Shane to move it along. “I was just thinking you could come over.” Shane averts his gaze from Ilya, blinking down at the phone instead. “We could order takeout, and, uh—” He inhales through his nose, the next word leaving him on a shaky exhale, “Talk?”

“Talk?” Hayden repeats skeptically. He huffs a quick laugh. “We’re talking now.”

Shane storms on ahead, no going back now. “There’s something big I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, but before we, uh, do that, there’s something else I should probably tell you. So that you’re not caught off guard when you get here.”

“Okay…” Hayden trails off, so much confusion dripping from the single word. Shane can’t blame him; he’s not exactly delivering this news with the tact he’d planned for. There’s a few seconds of silence, and when Shane doesn’t fill it, too busy figuring out how to drop this next, bigger bit of news, Hayden speaks again, “Shoot then, I guess.”

“Roaznov will be there,” Shane blurts, letting his head drop between his knees. He wants this couch to swallow him whole and put him out of his misery.

There’s a long, heavy silence, and then Hayden says, “Rozanov?”

“Yeah.”

“Rozanov will be there? Like at your place?”

“Yep,” he manages to grit out, tilting his head to peek at Ilya. In his defence, he looks horrified for the first time throughout this entire experience. Which speaks volumes to how well this call is going. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Hayden sound so bewildered.

“Okay,” Hayden says again. “Yeah, okay…” Another pause, and then, “Like Ilya Rozanov?”

Shane clears his throat, lifting his head. “That’s the one.”

More silence, and then, “Is this to do with that fucking jersey?”

“I think— Look, Hay, it’s not something I can tell you over the phone. Just come over tonight. And I’ll explain— try to explain everything.”

“Okay. What time?”

“Eight.”

“Okay, man. Yeah, okay.”

Hayden’s favorite word seemed to be okay. Shane didn’t know if that was a positive or a negative, but he wasn’t denying his dinner request, so it had to count for something.

“Thanks, Hay. Catch you tonight, yeah—” Shane hums, back to contemplating throwing his phone out of the window. “Yep. Thanks, man, bye.”

He ends the call, flopping back on the couch with a groan as he stares up at the ceiling. “Oh god,” he says directly to the light fixture.

“I think it went… well,” Ilya interrupts from where he’s frozen, still slightly horrified on the opposite side of the couch. “But Pike has lost his touch; he did not say anything when he found out I would be here.” He sounds disappointed, like he was ready to chirp Hayden Pike over the phone when Hayden didn’t even know he was supposed to be here. Yet.

Shane rolls his head to the side to look at Ilya, his body still thrumming with that feeling. The best comparison he can think of is when you say the wrong thing and obsess about it for the next three months. But underneath that, deep, deep, very deep, if he dug enough, there was a weird sense of relief too. It was weak, but it was there. “I think he was too confused to realize that you’re actually going to be here in the flesh.” Shane huffs a laugh that tapers off into another groan. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speechless before.”

Ilya’s mouth tips into a smirk. “We can go two for two on Hayden Pike speechless count tonight, yes?”

“Wine,” Shane starts, lifting the bottle from the paper bag and sliding it onto the counter.

Ilya leans forward to read the label, humming in approval. “What else?”

“Vodka.” Shane slides it next to the wine, the bottles clinking together.

“Vodka?” Ilya repeats, side eyeing the bottle.

“I don’t know,” Shane admits. “In case Hayden needs a shot to get past the shock or something.” The truth was, he’d been in a daze in the store after he’d picked up the wine, and then he’d remembered his dad pulling Vodka out when he and his mom had found out about them, and he thought, why not?

Ilya huffs a laugh, his attention back on the still full bag. “Okay. What else?”

Shane slides a candle onto the counter, then a bag of chips. “Hayden’s favorite chips.”

“More bribery?”

“Yes. And—” He picks the candle up, looking at it blankly. “I thought we could light a candle.”

“Did the check-out person think Shane Hollander is having world's most depressing night in?” Ilya asks, looking down at the pile in amusement.

“I used the self-checkout,” Shane mumbles.

“What else?” Ilya prods, trying to peek inside the bag.

Shane huffs, throwing the last thing onto the counter. There was no point in hiding it now. It lands between the candle and the Vodka, the candy rattling in the bag.

Ilya blinks down at the grey bag of Skittles, the very opposite of the usual bright packaging. “Skittles?”

Shane clears his throat. “It’s a pride thing—”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Shane admits, looking at the devoid of color bag sitting on the counter, somehow as confused as Ilya, even though he had bought them. “I saw them and thought they might break the ice.”

And what had they said about that Hayden Pike speechless count? Shane might have just broken the Ilya Rozanov speechless count instead. Ilya blinks at him, then at the Skittles, his mouth forming a little O shape. “Why did they take the color?”

“Something about the only rainbow being for pride, I guess.” Shane shrugs, suddenly feeling a little dumb as he stares at this bag of grey candy.

“Wow. You found world’s most boring Skittles. Shane Hollander Skittles.” Ilya shakes his head like he’s dumbfounded. He turns, his hands dropping to Shane’s hips, a stupid smile spreading on his face as the empty paper bag sinks to their feet. “I love you.”

Shane huffs, but relaxes into Ilya’s hold. “Because of Shane Hollander Skittles?”

“Your brain is so beautiful,” Ilya says simply, planting a messy kiss on Shane’s lips. He pulls back. “We are going to come out and eat boring, colorless Skittles with Hayden Pike.”

Shane can’t help but laugh, not hating that he’d bought the candy suddenly. “I love you.”

Ilya nods. “We can do this. Easy. You have won millions of hockey games; coming out to Pike is nothing. Piece of cake.”

“Millions?” Shane murmurs, fascinated by the tug of Ilya’s lips as he smiles. He bumps his nose against his, letting this last bit of contentment wash over him and keep him steady.

Ilya hums. “But I have won a million and one.”

Before Shane can say anything to that, there’s a knock at the door, and Shane lets his forehead drop to Ilya’s, taking a breath.

“Easy,” Ilya repeats softly into the nonexistent space between them.

Shane tips his chin, then steps back, looking at Ilya seriously, the words he’d said settling over him. It was a piece of cake. Easy.

“Are you ready?” Ilya asks.

“Yeah, I think so. As ready as I’ll ever be anyway. Stay here, I’ll bring him through.”

“Okay.” Ilya nods, stepping back to lean against the counter.

Shane leaves the kitchen, taking a couple more deep breaths as he stares at the front door, and then he pulls it open.

“Shane,” Hayden greets, a smile breaking out over his face as he holds a bottle of wine up. “Jackie’s idea.”

Oh, well, at least they were on the same page with the wine. Maybe not the rest of his bag of tricks, but still, it was a start.

“Hey, Hayden.” Shane can’t help but smile back despite his nerves as he opens the door wider, letting him pass.

Hayden takes a few steps, then turns, stopping in place as if he knows they have to get through some preamble first. He probably does know; it’s not like Shane had kept his cool on the phone earlier. He’s pretty sure every word he’d mumbled, gritted out, or stumbled over had been the very definition of suspicious. Hayden looks over his shoulder, but Ilya is still in the kitchen, hidden from view. He turns back, lowering his voice when he asks, “Is Rozanov here?”

“Yeah, he is,” Shane confirms, shifting in place awkwardly. “He’s in the, uh, kitchen.” He gestures behind them even more awkwardly. “Do you want to—”

“What is this about, man? Rozanov in your fucking house?” Hayden interrupts. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I don’t have a fucking clue.” He glances over his shoulder again as if he’s making sure Ilya hasn’t snuck up behind him in the last ten seconds. “Why is he here and not in Boston? Better question: why the fuck is he here?”

Shane swallows the feeling building in his throat. Hayden was so close, but he didn’t think he’d ever put the pieces together because who would? No one even knew he was gay.
“Hayden, I—” He swallows again, trying to find the words. “I need to tell you something, and it’s probably going to be a shock. Or maybe it won’t, I don’t know—” He winces. “I need to tell you a lot of stuff, but this is a good start. I think.”

Hayden’s brow furrows, and Shane realizes at that point he probably looks like a nervous wreck, his words tumbling out one after the other. “Wait, what stuff?”

Shane takes every bit of strength he possesses, his mind spinning as he stares at the wine bottle in Hayden’s hands as if it can anchor him. “I’m…gay.”

He hadn’t planned to do it the second Hayden had stepped through the door; he’d planned to pour some wine, maybe hand him a Skittle or two, and ease into it. But now, he’s come out as gay, a step inside his front door with Ilya probably listening in.

Hayden blinks at him slowly, and it’s like Shane can see every thought passing over his face. “You’re…” he trails off, his mouth slamming shut as his eyebrows pull together. He opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out.

“Gay,” Shane finishes for him, nodding jerkily, searching his face for any tell that he’s about to hightail it out of here with his fancy bottle of wine.

But before he can spiral too far, Hayden’s face breaks out into that same easy smile he’d walked in with. “Yeah. Cool, man.”

“Cool?” Shane repeats. Cool?

Hayden shrugs. “Sure. It’s cool with me, and if it’s not cool with anyone else, they’ll have to go through me. Then they’ll be cool, too.”

“I— okay?” Shane feels a little like he’s experiencing whiplash. Was it that easy? Were they already at acceptance? It’s not that he thought he wouldn’t accept him; he just thought they might sit in shock longer than eight seconds.

“Am I the only one who knows?” Hayden asks, pulling him back to the conversation.

Shane tips his chin. “Yeah. I don’t want to tell anyone else. Yet.”

Hayden’s smile turns conspiratorial, leaning a little closer. “Jackie has so many gay friends.”

Shane’s brain short-circuits. But before he can reply and politely decline that offer, there’s a loud clatter from the kitchen. They both turn toward the noise, met with Ilya's head popping around the corner. His words are clipped when he says, “Pike.”

“Rozanov,” Hayden replies in the same tone.

“Should we—” Shane gestures helplessly toward the kitchen. “Go through.”

Hayden nods, handing Shane the wine from Jackie. Ilya disappears back into the kitchen, and after a glance over his shoulder, Hayden lowers his voice again. “Is that why Rozanov is here?” Shane drags his eyes back to Hayden, the guy with the wife who has so many gay friends, who is super cool with being gay. “Are you coming out to him, too?”

“What?” Shane tries to keep his face neutral. “No. He, uh—” His hand tightens around the bottle in his hand. “He knows already.”

“He knows?”

“Yeah. Long story, I guess.” Shane didn’t particularly want to drop the second installment of tonight's bombshells so soon. He could only cope with one life-changing conversation in this hallway.

“Okay,” Hayden says, drawing out the word, some of the confusion back in his voice.

“Yeah, so—” Shane tilts his head toward the kitchen.

Hayden seems to get the hint, turning on his heel and walking straight toward Ilya. Shane looks down at the wine, then toward the kitchen.

Somehow, that had been the easy part of the evening. Now for the hard part.

“How is Jackie?” Ilya asks politely a few minutes later, leaning against the counter again, his wine glass in hand.

“Good,” Hayden answers, holding his own wine glass to the side, his eyes not leaving Ilya. He hasn’t stopped watching Ilya for the last ten minutes. It’s as if he stops looking, Ilya will what? Pounce?

Shane pours the wine, eyes ping-ponging between them. He should jump in at some point, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think leading with so, Ilya and I are in a committed relationship would go down too well.

“And she has a lot of gay friends?” Ilya’s voice was casual, punctuating the question with a sip of wine.

Hayden’s eyes narrow almost in accusation. “Yeah, why?”

Ilya’s shoulders lift in a lazy shrug. “I was just wondering.”

“Okay, because being gay is nothing to be weird about.”

Oh. Oh. This was what Hayden had meant when he’d said anyone who wasn’t cool with it would have to go through him. Shane was getting a sneak peek via his own boyfriend. What a treat.

“No,” Ilya agrees, tucking his smile behind his glass.

“Should we—” Shane tries, not even sure what he’s going to say as he looks between them.

Hayden cuts him off, “because if you have a problem—”

“I have no problem, Pike. I am bisexual,” Ilya announces suddenly. And then he takes another perfectly timed sip of wine.

Okay then. Two bombshells down, one to go. They were making quick progress, and they hadn’t even opened the Skittles.

That confession hangs in the air for a few seconds, and Shane fights the urge to turn away, watching Hayden’s mouth snapping shut and then open again instead. “Oh. Okay,” is what he decides on after a torturous stretch of silence, his cheeks going a little red.

Ilya hums. “Yes. How about you?”

“Me?”

“What are you?”

“Married to Jackie,” Hayden says quickly, his voice a little strained suddenly.

“Cheers to that,” Ilya replies cheerfully, holding his wine glass toward Hayden. Hayden waits a few seconds before he reluctantly clinks his against it.

After that, he turns to Shane, any of his discretion flying out of the window. “Why is he here?”

Shane’s eyes flick to Ilya, and then back to Hayden. “He—”

“We are friends, Pike, is that so hard to understand?” Ilya cuts in. “Just like you are friends—”

“We play on the same team.”

Ilya shrugs. “We have played on the same team before. All stars.”

“This is so weird,” Hayden mumbles under his breath before chugging the wine in his glass.

“So, you’re friends,” Hayden says, shaking his head disbelievingly as he sits on the couch. “When did that happen? From the top, please.”

“From the top, yes,” Ilya cuts in from Shane’s right. Shane clears his throat, staring straight ahead. He’s pretty sure his eye is twitching. Thankfully, that hilarious joke goes straight, no pun intended, over Hayden’s head. So Ilya continues, “We have more in common than you think—”

“Hockey, and being…” Hayden trails off.

“Into men,” Ilya finishes for him, his mouth spreading into a sarcastic smile.

Hayden ignores that, continuing, “So the whole time this rivals act has been what? Fake? A facade?”

“Big word,” Ilya cuts in. Again. “Congratulations, that was two whole syllables.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Hayden snaps, his gaze fixed on Shane.

“Not a facade,” Shane says finally, at least attempting to get them back to something resembling a productive conversation. “But we don’t hate each other off the ice.”

It was the simplest answer. It felt like they were building foundations, letting this secret trickle out like a slow drip, until it was out there. The problem was that Shane didn’t think Hayden was picking up anything they were putting down. He was buying into this best friends act. Even as they sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch opposite him.

“We are both too competitive, even if we are—” Ilya hesitates, the earlier bite in his tone gone for now. “Friends.”

When Hayden doesn’t say anything, Shane says, as if he needs to clarify, “I’d never let him win.”

Hayden nods in approval. “Fuck yeah.” His eyes bounce between them, apparently deeming it acceptable to look at Ilya again. “Do you guys talk to Scott Hunter?”

Shane shifts on the couch. “About?”

Hayden waves a hand through the air. “You know—”

“Not all gay people are friends, Pike.” Oh, and that bite was back. Right on time.

Hayden’s jaw clenches so abruptly that Shane briefly wonders if he’ll need a trip to the dentist after this. “He fucking kissed his boyfriend on the ice, sorry for thinking you might talk about it.”

Ilya hums. “You are not funny. Do not try again.”

Hayden throws his hands up. “What the fuck?”

“We have talked to Scott,” Shane supplies. “He doesn’t know, but we congratulated him.”

“Yes, very helpful,” Ilya agrees. “He was there when first pride flag was created.”

Hayden huffs a humorless laugh. “You’re an asshole to everyone then, not just the people sitting in front of you.”

“Not everyone,” Ilya corrects, and Shane feels a foot press against his, just a quick tap, and then another, before he moves it away. Shane looks down so Hayden can’t see his smile. Not that he would notice it. He’s learning today that his best friend is fucking clueless.

“I’d like to meet this person who supposedly gets the nice version of you,” Hayden mutters.

Ilya smiles. “Maybe one day.”

An hour later, they’re sitting at the table, Shane and Ilya on one side again, Hayden on the other, still none the wiser. There are boxes of takeout spread in front of them, and several awkward conversations, none of which involved the biggest bombshell, already behind them. In no particular order, they had talked about hockey, Scott Hunter some more, and Jackie’s soup. The last one had been a close call when Ilya had almost blurted out how good it was, backtracking at the last second and shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth instead. It was going great, thank you for asking. They were just no closer to Hayen Pike figuring anything out.

Ilya turns to Shane, eyes flicking briefly over his shoulder before they land back on his face. Hayden had excused himself for a bathroom break, and Shane was honestly thankful for the reprieve and the chance to talk to his boyfriend unwatched for a second. Ilya presses his foot against Shane’s under the table, and Shane presses back until Ilya smiles softly at him. He drops his voice to a whisper. “It is going well, yes?”

“I guess,” Shane says, matching Ilya’s volume. “Do you think he suspects anything yet?”

“No. Definitely not. He is too stupid. Too busy thinking about whatever he thinks about—” Ilya’s lips pull into a flat line. “Which is probably nothing.”

Shane huffs a laugh. “I was sure he’d take the hint after that whole thing in the kitchen,” he admits quietly. He honestly thought it would be pretty easy to piece together, especially because as the night had gone on, they’d definitely gotten more obvious.

Ilya shakes his head quickly, and Shane can’t help but reach forward to brush a curl from his face. “This table is huge, and he did not question why you are pressed against me. He has no hope.”

“I’m not pressed against you,” Shane defends weakly even as the warmth from Ilya’s body seeps into his own.

Ilya looks pointedly down at their thighs, which are definitely pressed together. Then he hooks his ankle around Shane’s, resting it there. “He will not get any hints.”

Shane wonders how clueless Hayden really is. “Maybe he’s being polite.”

“Hayden and polite do not belong in the same sentence, in the same universe,” Ilya huffs, taking another bite of chicken.

“What if we…” Shane trails off, the idea a little ridiculous.

“What?” Ilya says, speaking around his mouthful.

“We could just…get more obvious.”

Ilya swallows, raising an eyebrow. “You want to Scott Hunter in front of Hayden?”

“No, asshole. Just like—” He waves a hand between them aimlessly. “Put your arm on the back of my chair, hold my hand. Stuff he can’t ignore.”

Ilya’s expression turns amused, a grin spreading over his face. “Is a good idea.”

Shane nods. “Okay, so let’s do it.”

“So, Boston Lily,” Hayden says suddenly, cutting their plan off as he rounds the table, sliding back into his chair, picking the wine glass up like he’s at girls' night and about to get the hot gossip. In a way, he is. The hot gossip of the MLH, at least.

Ilya immediately puts his fork down, his hand hovering in the air a little awkwardly until he places it down next to Shane’s, not exactly a handhold, but a hand brush. Shane extends his pinky just a little, tapping Ilya’s pinky. Yes. Let’s do it.

“I told you she wasn’t here,” Shane replies simply, knocking his foot back into Ilya’s like a private joke.

Hayden laughs. “Who the fuck was I looking for? I think I found every single woman in Boston called Lily.”

“I told you to stop.”

“You were texting someone, I saw it,” Hayden insists.

Shane’s not entirely convinced Hayden had seen anything; he’d even gone as far as texting Boston Ilya under the covers when he and Hayden had shared a room. But he understood what he was saying. Boston Lily existed as a concept.

“I have friends, Hay,” he says.

Hayden shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m learning so much about you.”

“Yeah—” Shane’s cut off by an arm resting on the back of his chair. He shifts, leaning back a little so Ilya’s fingers brush his shoulder.

Hayden’s eyes flick to the movement for a second, but then he sips his wine, unfazed. He looks at Shane again, and he looks genuinely interested when he asks, “Are you dating anybody?”

“Yes,” Ilya replies quickly, getting there before Shane can.

“I wasn’t asking you, Rozanov.”

“Yeah, I am,” Shane confirms, waiting for the obvious solution to hit him. But, it doesn’t.

“No way.” Hayden leans a little closer like they’re sharing a secret. “Is it serious?”

“We’ve been together for years,” Shane admits, surprising himself with his boldness. There was no point in holding back, not with Ilya wrapped around the back of his chair. Surely Hayden would get it now.

Hayden’s lips tip into a goofy smile. “When can I meet him?”

Shane tries his best not to pull a face, and he can’t imagine Ilya’s expression is any better. In fact, he knows it’s worse; he’s probably glaring at Hayden right now. “I—”

Shane is cut off again, this time by a familiar weight landing on his hand, Ilya’s fingers wrapping around his own. Shane looks at their joined hands right there on the table, and then at Hayden, apprehension prickling his skin.

But Hayden is just staring at Shane, genuine worry swimming in his eyes. “Do you need a hug?”

“A hug?” Shane repeats slowly. “From you?”

“Uh, yeah, man.” He shoots him a betrayed look. “I’m a great fucking hugger.”

Shane stares back at him, trying to piece this together, Ilya’s fingers still wrapped around his own. “Why would I need a hug?”

Hayden gestures toward Ilya. “He’s been looking at you like he’s worried all night, and now—” He points to their joined hands on the table. “What the fuck is going on?”

“You are fucking stupid, Pike,” Ilya finally cuts in.

“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Hayden throws back, and then he freezes, his mouth dropping open, a very slow realization hitting him. He points at Shane. “You had his jersey because you’re dating—” His finger moves to Ilya. “Him?”

Ilya huffs a laugh. “Did you see Scott Hunter kissing his boyfriend and think what good friends?”

Shane hushes him, turning back to Hayden. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Hayden is still staring, his wide eyes bouncing between them. “Kinda dating him?”

“I didn’t have the jersey because we’re dating, he’s just an asshole,” Shane corrects, but he doesn’t drop Ilya’s hand. It’s the anchor he needs right now.

“What the fuck?” Hayden breathes, pushing his wine glass away. “Wait, you said years?”

“Rookie season,” Shane supplies.

“Summer before,” Ilya corrects, giving Shane’s hand a quick squeeze.

“Holy shit.” Hayden looks a little pale suddenly. “The entire time?”

Shane shrugs, learning from last time that they didn’t need to clarify every single detail. “Yeah.”

“Who knows?”

“My parents. And you.”

“Holy shit,” Hayden repeats, dropping his head to look at the table intensely.

Ilya tries to hide his laugh behind the hand not holding Shane's, but it doesn’t work, the sound spilling between them. “It is a lot to take in, your best friend being deeply, madly in love with the person who can beat you so easily. Must sting.”

“Wait—” Hayden looks up again, ignoring that quip in favor of narrowing his eyes at Ilya. “You’re Boston Lily.”

Ilya’s mouth tugs into a pleased smirk. “Boston Ilya, yes. Your wife makes delicious soup.”

Hayden blinks at Ilya, another realization dawning on him. “You fucker, there were no leftovers; she gave it all to you.” Then his head whips to Shane. “Wait a minute. Every time you disappeared in Boston, it was to go to him?”

“Probably not every time,” Shane reasons, knowing it’s a lie.

“Yes, every time,” Ilya confirms.

Hayden slumps back in his chair. “That actually makes sense. Does anyone on your team know?” he asks, directing the question at Ilya.
Ilya shakes his head. “I have my own Montreal Jane.”

Hayden huffs a laugh. “Boston Lily and Montreal Jane.”

Shane finally lets go of Ilya’s hand, looking at Hayden seriously. “You can’t tell anyone, Hay. Not right now at least.”

Hayden shakes his head quickly, and he looks offended that Shane even has to say it. “Of course not—” He tilts his head toward Ilya. “He’s a dick—”

“Thank you,” Ilya says cheerfully.

“—but you’re my best friend, man,” Hayden finishes with another shake of his head.

Shane feels a bucketload of relief wash over him. This entire night had been a mess, but it was done, and he’d survived. Hayden was sitting here supporting him, supporting them at a stretch, if you squinted. He was willing to go to bat for him if it came to it, and that meant something. It didn’t get old; he’d felt the same thing after his parents had found out, once the initial panic had subsided. It was hope, even if Hayden did want to strangle Ilya about that soup.

Ilya stands, looking between them seriously. “Does anybody want Skittles?”

Hayden stops at the door, pausing to look at Shane seriously. “If you ever change your mind, Jackie seriously has so many gay friends, like more than the average person.”

Shane shakes his head, biting back his smile. “Not going to change my mind.”

“If you do. But if you don’t, I guess I’ll just have to learn to tolerate him.” Hayden sighs, and it truly sounds tortured.

“He’s really not that bad,” Shane insists. The truth is, Ilya probably was that bad, and Shane loved him even more for it.

“Yeah, alright. Come here.” Hayden holds his arms out, and Shane hugs him. Hayden squeezes his shoulder as he pulls back. “I’m proud of you. I’ve got your back, whenever you decide to tell people. I’m serious, Shane, any fucker who says anything will have to say it to me too.”

Shane nods, unexpected emotion burning his throat. “Thanks, Hayden.”

“Anytime, man.” He shakes his head, a laugh rumbling up his chest. “Boston fucking Ilya.”

Hayden leaves, and Shane walks through to Boston fucking Ilya sprawled out on the couch, the colorless bag of Skittles resting on his chest. He looks up, chewing one of the boring Skittles. “Is he finally gone?”

Shane nods, rounding the couch to join him. He lowers himself, sprawling out on top of him, letting the tension leave his body as Ilya’s hand falls to his back, his fingers scratching a gentle pattern. “Tonight was fucking crazy,” he murmurs, tipping his chin to press a kiss to whatever skin he can reach. It lands between Ilya’s shoulder and neck.

Ilya hums contentedly, looking down at him, his mouth tugging into a soft smile, the kind reserved just for Shane. “Pike would probably have heart attack if he saw us like this. Send him a picture. Can get my jersey in the background all nice and pretty.”

“You’re an asshole, you know,” Shane mumbles against his skin.

“Yes, Pike told me many times.”

“You didn’t need to keep bringing up the soup.”

Ilya shrugs. “He is very easy to annoy. Is fun.”

Shane huffs a tired laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

“How do you feel?” Ilya asks seriously, shifting his body, his hand switching from Shane’s back to card through his hair.

Shane tilts his head to meet his gaze. “Really good,” he tells him honestly.

“Yeah?” Ilya whispers.

Shane hums. “Yeah.”

Before either of them can say anything else, Shane’s phone starts buzzing from his pocket.

“What do they want now?” Ilya groans, putting a Skittle into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Tell Pike to go away. And tell him the wine he brought was shitty.”

“Jackie picked the wine,” Shane tells him, shifting to the side to pull out his phone.

“Okay, tell him it was the best wine I have ever tasted.”

“Stupid,” Shane murmurs.

He unlocks the phone and pulls up the groupchat with him, Hayden, and J.J.

J.J.
I can’t stop thinking about that fucking jersey
Rozanov can never find out
Hayden
He would be such a dick about it
J.J.
Especially to Shane
Hayden
We’ll keep it to ourselves
J.J.
Fuck yeah

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Shane smiles, tilting the phone toward Ilya.

Ilya’s eyes skim the screen, then flick to Shane. “I guess Hayden is okay.”