Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Something Has Changed
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Ten years.
Ten years of hotel rooms and back doors. Of separate arrivals and staggered exits. Of never touching where anyone could see, and never—ever—talking about what it meant.
If it meant anything at all.
Ilya Rozanov had gotten very good at pretending it didn’t.
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The game had been brutal.
That part was real.
Bodies slamming into boards, sticks cracking against ice, the sharp burn in Ilya’s lungs as he pushed harder than necessary—because Shane was on the other side, because Shane always brought something reckless out of him.
They hadn’t spoken.
Not really.
A glance at center ice. A shove that lingered half a second too long. Shane’s mouth tightening like he wanted to say something and chose not to.
Same as always.
Afterward, separate locker rooms. Separate interviews. Separate lives.
That was the rule.
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By morning, something was wrong.
Ilya knew it before he even understood how he knew.
Shane hadn’t answered.
Not the first text. Not the second. Not the third, which Ilya told himself he hadn’t meant to send.
That wasn’t like him.
Shane was careful. Shane was precise. Even their silence had structure to it—timed, controlled, deliberate.
This wasn’t that.
This was… absence.
Ilya stared at his phone for a long moment, jaw tightening.
Then he grabbed his keys.
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Shane’s penthouse still smelled the same.
Clean. Controlled. Neutral in a way that never quite masked what Shane was underneath.
Ilya punched in the PIN without hesitation.
He shouldn’t have known it.
He definitely shouldn’t have used it.
But ten years blurred lines that were probably never solid to begin with.
“Ilya?” Shane had asked once, years ago, voice quiet in the dark. “What are we doing?”
Ilya had laughed it off.
He always did.
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“Shane?”
No answer.
The penthouse was too quiet.
Ilya moved through it quickly, something uneasy settling in his chest. The kitchen was untouched. The living room pristine. No signs of movement.
“Shane?”
Still nothing.
The bedroom door was half open.
Ilya pushed it wider—and stopped.
Shane was curled in on himself on the bed, blankets tangled around him, face pale and damp with sweat. His breathing was uneven, shallow in a way that made something cold slide down Ilya’s spine.
For a second, he just stood there.
This wasn’t Shane.
Shane didn’t fall apart.
“Ilya,” Shane mumbled, barely opening his eyes. “Go away.”
Relief hit first. Sharp, immediate.
Then irritation, because of course that was Shane’s response.
“You’re not answering your phone,” Ilya said, stepping closer. “People start to think you are dead.”
“Would that be so terrible?” Shane muttered.
“Yes,” Ilya snapped automatically.
He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out before he could stop himself, pressing the back of his hand to Shane’s forehead.
Hot.
Too hot.
“You’re sick.”
“Brilliant observation,” Shane said weakly.
But Ilya wasn’t really listening anymore.
Because something else was wrong.
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He leaned in slightly, inhaling without thinking— and froze.
Shane’s scent was… off.
Not gone. Not masked. Just different.
Softer, sweeter.
It curled in the air in a way that made something deep in Ilya’s chest pull tight, instinctive and unfamiliar and dangerous.
And underneath it, something else.
Faint.
But unmistakable.
Ilya went very still. “Shane,” he said slowly.
“Mm…?”
“Your scent.”
Shane made a small, irritated sound. “I feel like I’m dying, Ilya. I don’t care about my scent.”
“It’s different.”
That got a reaction.
Shane’s eyes opened slightly, unfocused but wary. “It’s not.”
“It is.”
Ilya’s voice had gone quieter now. Sharper.
Focused.
He leaned closer again, more deliberate this time, breathing in deeper—
Yes.
There.
No question.
His stomach dropped. “Oh,” Ilya said.
Shane frowned. “What does that mean?”
Ilya pulled back, staring at him in a way that made something uneasy flicker across Shane’s face. “You’re pregnant.”
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“That’s not funny.”
“I am not joking.”
“It’s impossible,” Shane said immediately, pushing himself up despite the obvious effort it took. “I take my suppressants. I always take them.”
Ilya didn’t answer right away.
Because now that the thought had formed, it wasn’t leaving.
It was fitting.
Too well.
“You didn’t,” Ilya said finally.
Shane’s expression hardened. “Yes, I did.”
“No,” Ilya held his gaze. “There was one time you didn’t.”
Shane stilled. And for a moment—just a moment—something like uncertainty broke through. “That—” Shane swallowed. “That doesn’t—no. That doesn’t count. That was—”
“We were drunk,” Ilya said.
Shane’s breath hitched.
“You forgot.”
The room felt smaller suddenly.
Too tight.
“That was months ago,” Shane said, but his voice had lost its edge.
Ilya didn’t need to answer.
They both knew.
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“Oh my God,” Shane pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes wide now, panic rising fast and sharp. “Oh my God, Ilya—no. No, that’s—this can’t be happening.”
“You need doctor,” Ilya said, standing abruptly, adrenaline kicking in. “Now.”
“No,” The word came out immediate. Harsh. “I’m not going to a doctor.”
“You are sick—”
“I’m not sick!” Shane snapped. “And I’m not going to risk being seen walking into some clinic where someone recognizes me and suddenly there are pictures and speculation and—” He cut himself off, breathing hard.
Fear, this time. Real fear. Not of being sick, of being found out.
Ilya hesitated.
That, at least, he understood.
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“Okay,” he said after a moment.
Shane blinked at him. “Okay?”
“I fix it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Ilya said, already pulling out his phone, “you are not going to public hospital. I know people. Private clinic. No names. No press.”
Shane stared at him. “You can’t just—”
“I can.”
There was something in Ilya’s voice now—something solid, unshakable in a way that didn’t leave room for argument.
“I will handle it.”
Shane searched his face, like he was trying to find the catch. “There’s always a catch with you,” Shane said quietly.
“Not this time.”
The words came out before Ilya could stop them.
And they hung there.
Heavy.
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The clinic was quiet.
Too quiet.
Everything about it felt deliberately unremarkable—neutral walls, soft lighting, no identifying signage. The kind of place built for people who needed things handled without questions.
Shane sat stiffly in the chair beside Ilya, hands clenched together in his lap.
Neither of them spoke.
For once, there was nothing to say.
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“Mr. Hollander?”
They both looked up.
The doctor smiled politely, like this was routine. Like this was normal.
It wasn’t.
It couldn’t be.
“Please, come with me.”
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The exam room was cold.
Shane hated it immediately.
He hated the way everything felt clinical, detached. The way the doctor spoke calmly, efficiently, asking questions Shane barely registered.
Dates, symptoms, history.
Ilya answered some of them.
Shane didn’t remember agreeing to that.
He didn’t stop him, either.
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“Alright,” the doctor said finally. “Let’s take a look.”
Shane’s heart was pounding so hard it made him feel dizzy.
This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. It was just the flu, it had to be.
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Time stretched, blurred, collapsed in on itself.
“Well,” the doctor said gently.
And something in his tone made Shane’s stomach drop. He didn’t want to ask, he didn’t want to know. But—
“How far along?” Ilya asked.
Of course he did.
Of course.
The doctor glanced between them briefly before answering. “Approximately nineteen weeks.”
Nineteen weeks.
The word didn’t make sense, it didn’t fit.
“That’s—” Shane shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” the doctor said calmly. “And from what I can see, everything appears to be progressing normally.”
Normally.
Shane let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “Nothing about this is normal.”
Ilya didn’t laugh, he didn’t say anything at all. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, something unreadable settling into his expression. For once— he looked completely, utterly serious.
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When they stepped back outside, the world felt… wrong.
Too bright, too loud, too unchanged.
Shane stopped walking. “Ilya…”
Ilya turned.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ten years of almosts and not-quites and things left unsaid stretched between them.
Fragile, fracturing.
“This changes everything,” Shane said.
Ilya held his gaze. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It does.”