Iradekane7



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    “Ilya, what are we gonna do?” Shane says.

    Ilya finishes whatever he has been doing on his phone, and tosses it gently to the bed beside him. He crosses the room to Shane, stands in front of him, squeezes into his shoulders with his big hands, rubbing them like he means to warm them up.

    “Looks like we will have a little vacation,” he says, with a big obnoxious grin.

     


     

    Boston and Montreal are sent to Paris to play against each other in an exhibition series in January 2017. Ilya and Shane decide to stay in Paris for one more night. Just one more night, so they can talk. Maybe finally understand each other.

    They aren't expecting a volcano to erupt in Iceland and close all the airspace in Europe, leaving them stranded there. Together.

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    07 Jul 2026

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    Ilya is sipping a cappuccino and watching Shane do very perverted yoga when he realizes that he doesn’t want to die.

    It’s a dumb series of thoughts. He sees Shane bend over, neatly folding himself into a hunchback as his hands flatten by his feet, and Ilya thinks, I bet he’s going to love it when we’re old and grey and he can outrace me with my stupid hip replacement. And then he realizes that not only does he anticipate being old and grey enough to need a hip replacement, but that he actually wants to get there.

    -

    Or: the existential crisis that happens when you’ve been depressed your whole life and then realize, suddenly, in your thirties, that you’re happy enough with your life that you no longer want to die.

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    07 Jul 2026

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    At the corner store, the guy asks what brand of cigarettes Shane wants. Shane has never paid enough attention to Ilya’s cigarettes to notice a brand name; he asks for Marlboro, because at least it’s a name he knows.

    At home, on his balcony, he cracks the pack and lights one. The smell curves towards him slowly, diffuse in the city air.

    He closes his eyes. If he focuses, it’s three months ago and he’s sitting in Ilya’s bed and Ilya is resting his chin on Shane’s shoulder. Stay, he’s murmuring. I am not done with you yet.

    Or: Shane has a thing about smells.

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    07 Jul 2026

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    The second time Shane Hollander wakes up on November 16th, he has a panic attack.

    The problem is — he tries to explain through gasped breaths after Hayden basically knocks down his door, shouting that they’re going to miss their flight — the thing is, Shane’s already woken up on November 16th. He’s already flown to Boston. He’s already been to practice, and he’s checked into the hotel, and he has lived this day before.

    He doesn’t mention that he’s also already fucked Ilya Rozanov twice and had a fucking tuna melt that Rozanov made and drank the ginger ale that Rozanov bought specifically for him. He doesn’t mention that they’d snuggled on the couch watching TV like some kind of couple, like boyfriends.

    He doesn’t mention that he fell asleep thinking about how Ilya — fuck, no, thinking about how Rozanov had called him sweetheart and Shane, and that, even now, he can’t quite get the cadence of Ilya’s voice out of his head.

    Or: After the tuna melt fiasco, Shane Hollander wakes up in a time loop.

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    07 Jul 2026

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    Morselmôrs(ə)l • [mor-sel]
    noun
    1.) A piece; a bite
    2.) A small quantity
    3.) Something delectable and pleasing

    Thoughts on a marriage; or, things that might have happened.

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    07 Jul 2026