Chapter Text
He had done everything he could all week, including becoming an incessant source of frustration, to ensure they would be watching the documentary live as it aired. Shane’s reminders were the snippet of audio that auto played while you tried to read comments on a clip. A sound you think you can bear for a moment, and it is bearable for the first few loops, until it suddenly becomes the most maddening sound you had ever heard. That was Shane. He had gone from zero to one hundred since that very morning. He almost felt bad about pushing it so much. And the worst part was that Ilya had not been receptive to the idea at all.
But Shane could not let it go.
“So… We are watching the documentary tonight, right?”
“Like I said, if you want.”
Shane wasn’t sure if he did want to, in all honesty. But if they decided not to it wouldn’t change what had been recorded and it certainly wouldn’t change what everyone else who tuned in was about to watch.
In the door to the lounge, Ilya’s shoulders had curled inwards as he did the thing he tended to do when he wanted Shane to know that he did not want to do something else. That thing where he engaged all the physicality and intensity he usually reserved for the ice or the bedroom and instead channelled it towards making his arms and hands look like they were sculpted from lead.
Shane had seen this act more than once, so he knew what was coming and assumed his role. With a look that he hoped conveyed the right balance of mock surprise and concern, Shane played along, which is what he knew Ilya was really looking for.
“Oh no. Are you hurt? How did this happen?”
Ilya suppressed the uptick of a heartfelt smirk that wriggled into his facial muscles as best he could. But not quickly enough, Shane thought. Their familiar routine caused Shane to involuntarily go through the same rush of affection that he tried to hide. And he knew that Ilya had registered it all the same. Their score was one for one, as usual. Meanwhile, Ilya had locked his knees at odd angles and was dragging himself across to the couch.
“Just remember… I tried to protect you, my love. But it is bad. Go on without me.” Ilya reached one arm out to Shane’s shoulder, staggering backwards and forwards before ultimately collapsing over the back of the lounge.
“That is a shame. Well! Time of death, uh, 7:26pm. Cause of death-”
A muffled voice emerged from between the couch cushions and Ilya’s upside-down head, “… boredom.”
“Oh my god. C’mere!” Shane rolled towards the inverted torso, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s midsection and pulling him awkwardly onto the seat.
Okay, now Shane was really starting to feel nervous.
* * *
Ilya was not entirely sure the part zombie/part melodramatic soldier routine was going to work with Shane that night. But as he stood in the kitchen after tidying up, he felt bubbling behind his eyes and in his ears. His fingertips pressed into the bench-top, turning white.
Shane had been going on and on about the stupid documentary but for what? So, they could watch how much was not said? So, they could enjoy seeing an even more sterile version of what they had both already lived? Ilya was there. He remembered just fine.
Ilya abruptly turned himself around, pushing his lower back against the counter, seeking any pressure to calm the biting fizz under his skin. What did Shane hope was going to happen when they watched?
Because Ilya knew exactly what would happen.
Oh, wow, look!
I have never seen footage of us like this.
What visionary thought to compile a best goals package?
Look at how we both have scored goals.
Rewind a bit, I think I missed it.
The first two men to ever have played hockey.
Watch how we talk about… what’s that? More hockey?
My god, they do not pull any punches.
Look at how young we were.
‘What is your next goal, Shane? A Stanley Cup?’
You had such a baby face, I loved it.
‘How about you, Rozanov?’
Isn’t it funny how they never called me Ilya.
‘Bet you just want to keep up.’
Look at how quickly so many years went by.
‘Is there room for another Stanley Cup, Shane?’
Oh, they have always loved you.
‘Rozanov, does Ottawa have a chance?’
The next Pulitzer winner here.
‘Do you both still have a rivalry?’
It went on for so many years, didn’t it, Shane.
‘Ha ha! That’s what he said too.’
‘Don’t worry. We can keep your secret.’
‘What do you think of Shane Hollander now?’
‘Go on, spill.’
‘Is he better than you?’
‘You can tell us.’
‘How much better?’
‘We already know.’
‘What about Rozanov, Shane?’
‘We promise we won’t tell anyone.’
‘Is he still evil?’
‘Oh, be honest, we’re all friends here.’
‘Do you still dance on the ice like the marionette puppets that we pay you to be?’
‘Good boys.’
‘Now, go sit down and be quiet.’
Ilya did not know why Shane seemed so eager for that predictable punishment, but he was close to using their safe word. From the lounge, he could hear Shane change over to the right channel. Ilya drew upon the dread that leaked out of his stomach and stained his limbs as he decided he’d try to make Shane laugh and pretend he was still holding it together.
* * *
The documentary had so far been pretty much as Shane had expected after watching a rough preview in the editing room a month earlier. It hadn’t taken much for the production crew to approve his access, especially after the offer of an exclusive extra interview.
Shane remembered the way his mother had responded when he’d asked her to join him.
“Oh, but honey surely that’s something Ilya would want to be there for? I can’t imagine he’d be very happy with me if he found out I was your plus one for any kind of hockey exclusive.”
Eventually, she agreed to go as long as he promised to tell Ilya it was completely his idea if they were found out. That would be the easy part, Shane had thought to himself as he opened the doors of the production company’s building and followed his mother inside. The producer and editors were professional and polite, taking Shane and Yuna through the filming and editing process. There had been a few too many awkward pleasantries and Shane knew his mother’s smile was the one she showed for support rather than when she felt at ease.
Shane couldn’t wait for it to all be over, when the elephant in the room was thoroughly addressed. She would understand then. Everyone would.
“So, after the general career highlights and a few clips from past interviews, we’ll cut to your collision at the Boston/Montreal game. We hope it’s not too confronting for you to relive, but we’ve tried our best to be sensitive about it rather than gratuitous.”
“Uh, yeah of course. No, that should be fine.”
Shane realised he’d never sought out too much footage from that day, he’d always felt the hospital visit and weeks of recovery were all the souvenirs he needed. But he had to admit he felt somewhat curious.
“Can I see that part now?”
Moments later, Marlow’s body flooded the frame, and Shane felt his mother instinctively place her hand on his arm. He wasn’t entirely sure which of them had needed the comfort more.
“I’m okay,” he said, patting her hand gently with his own. Though Shane’s hand immediately stopped moving as soon as he saw the next clip.
The one of Ilya, crouched over Shane’s still body. His face contorted into a mixture of confusion and readily accessible grief.
“Oh, Ilya,” Yuna had said quietly as they both stared up at the screens. The clips continued. Shane Hollander’s body from a myriad of angles, but each time guarded by the same embodiment of anguish in the form of one Ilya Rozanov.
* * *
Shane couldn’t help himself, “Wait, he stayed? Everyone else went back to the bench but he stayed?”
He turned to face his mother, “It would have been so confusing for him, he wouldn’t have understood the medics,” Shane instinctively pulled at the collar of his shirt.
“Oh god, did he think I was dead?”
The producer sighed and leaned forward with their arms crossed in front of them, “It was quite a frightening collision. I’m not surprised Rozanov wanted to check that his team hadn’t been responsible for anything too intense.” Then added with a scoff, “If anything, he’s probably panicking about the PR storm awaiting the Raiders after the game.”
Shane swivelled around, turning his attention to the staff spread around the studio, “You really don’t see it? Oh my god, how could anyone watch this and not immediately understand what’s going on.”
The room fell silent. Shane launched up and stood next to the editor at the controls, “Go back a few secs. Wait a second… There it is. There!” The footage paused on a wide shot of the ice, a ref had begun to skate towards Ilya, directing him back to his bench.
“Okay go forward just like, as slow as possible.” The editor did as instructed. “Shit, sorry, it’s so quick. Go back. Okay, forward. Stop! Look, right there.”
He heard someone from the crew murmur, “Oh my god.”
Shane’s voice broke as he ran his hands through his hair, “Yeah. So, now do you understand why I have to do this?”
He could see his mother now understood why she was there. Yuna had understood a lot of things about her sons after that.
Shane pointed to the one detail in the only frame that showed the truth. It had truly been a blink and you’d miss it moment.
For a single moment amidst the chaotic kaleidoscope of jerseys, sticks, sprawling ice, camera flashes and medical uniforms, it was unmistakable… Ilya had been holding Shane’s hand.
* * *
“Hang in there, Ilya. It’s almost finished. I think there’s just one more part to go.”
“Okay. Is not so bad. Watching it with you here is the best part, though.” Ilya readjusted his position on the lounge and half-heartedly scrolled through his phone during the ad-break, “It says on here there are record numbers watching. I would have been offended if that was not the case.”
Shane smiled and checked his phone too, “Oh yeah?”
“Mmm, and I have texts from a few people. All the same kind of thing, when did you get so old, Rozy? Idiots. They have aged same amount.”
Shane was too distracted replying to his parents, who had wished him luck a few minutes earlier. His chest was starting to feel disconnected from the rest of his body and his limbs felt too long all of a sudden.
“I’m just going to quickly go to the bathroom before the last segment. Be right back. Pause if I’m not back before it starts again.”
“Really? I do not think there is going to be some plot twist, Shane. Not one that is any better than the one we are currently living, anyway. But okay, you are ever the optimist.”
When Shane went upstairs, he found what he was looking for quickly. It was exactly where he had hidden it a few weeks prior. The choice of location wasn’t hard, the chances of Ilya spontaneously developing an interest in the extended history of the ‘Feudal Kingdom of England from 1042 to 1216’ was highly unlikely. It had upset Shane to hollow out the book even for this purpose, so he bought an extra copy to read later. Ilya obviously hadn’t noticed the double-up on their bookshelf, or if he had, it wasn’t odd enough behaviour by Shane to bother mentioning.
“Lyubimyy, it is back on! But I have paused like you asked so do not rush your bladder!”
This was it. Shane took a deep breath, washed his hands and checked his expression was reset in the bathroom mirror. Then he headed down the stairs to face the truth.
“Thank you for waiting for me. Let’s finish this.”
* * *
From earnest dreams of playing in the NHL all the way to multiple Stanley Cups, broken world records and even a team transfer in the mix, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov’s careers have been anything but boring.
Ilya scoffed.
Where to after that? Well, the last thing anyone expected was for them to join forces, but this rivalry has always kept us on our toes. The players soon put aside their differences to establish The Irina Foundation, whose donations to mental health charities have exceeded more than 35 million dollars to date.
The footage showed smiling kids at the hockey camp with voiceovers of some of the charities they had helped throughout the past few years. Shane looked at Ilya, who had slid off the couch and was now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Ilya finally smiled at the screen, before he turned back to look at Shane, “I don’t remember being asked much about this but maybe they realised it would be stupid not to talk about?”
The footage of the foundation continued and Ilya hugged his knees, the denim of his jeans absorbing his sporadic soft tears.
The documentary continued, but this time an interviewer spoke directly to the camera.
“A few weeks before this documentary was scheduled to screen, we were contacted directly by Shane Hollander himself who wished to come in for an exclusive interview.”
Ilya tilted his head, “Wait, what are they talking about, Shane?” Their phones began to buzz with notifications. Ilya reached for his as Shane reached out his hand, “Please wait until we watch this bit.” Ilya nodded and put his phone under a cushion behind him to muffle it.
“Of course, we sat down with him in our studio, and what you are about to see is nothing short of extraordinary.”
Shane began to watch himself on the screen as he was transported back to that day, getting mic’d up and trying to smile from the uncomfortable but necessary chair he had chosen to sit in.
Hello. Thank you for having me. I know it wasn’t part of the original plan.
‘Oh, don’t you worry, the fans love anything they can get from their Montreal captain. But I have to ask, what made you contact us? Did you not trust that we would do you justice?’
Ha, no, I trust you guys, a lot. And to be honest, I deliberated as to whether I made that call and came in or not. But, uh, well, doing the documentary was great. What an opportunity to see all of the hard work that we’ve put in over the years. I am really thankful. For all of it. For the fans, especially. They make hockey what it is.
‘And you both certainly have a lot of fans. They love you.’
That support is so needed, I promise you. I guess what struck me most about the documentary was how at the end of being interviewed and when I got to see the rough edit, how… how sad I felt? And how much I wanted to apologise…
‘Oh, wow. I was not expecting you to say that. Why apologise? To who?’
To a lot of people. Firstly, to the fans, for lying to them.
‘Lying? Shane, I’m confused, what do you mean?’
I promise I’ll explain it all.
‘Okay, the floor is yours. Take as long as you need.’
Ilya had lurched forwards and was staring directly at the TV. Shane felt like he was at his parents’, watching Hunter’s moment all over again.
I am sorry that you’ve only ever had the chance to see a version of me. Don’t get me wrong, I have tried to make sure that person you see is the player you’ve always hoped for. I’ve played honestly, I’ve tried my hardest, I’ve always wanted what’s best for the team and I have led our team to the highest of achievements.
Shane watched himself stare down the camera lens. He watched himself begin to speak to the Ilya that sat in front of him on the floor, the Ilya who was still so unsure and trying to not be too hopeful.
When I first started playing hockey, I was told the rules and the plan. I would play in this team, then I would get drafted here, I would play for that team, I would do those endorsements, I would lead, I would lose players, I would bring up rookies, I would make speeches, I would go to the Olympics, I would play good hockey and I would be great and I would make people proud. I hope I have succeeded in being what everyone wanted. Because I tried really hard.
But nobody warned me that I would also meet Ilya Rozanov. And not for the reasons you all think. Yes, he is a stirrer. He challenges me like nobody else in this game ever has and I don’t think ever will. But everyone just told me when I was a teen to hate him because he was good. And that he, of course, would hate me because I was good, too. A rivalry immediately became part of the master plan. And so, I went along with it. Who was I to say any different?
And I guess the plan did what it set out to do. But my biggest apology is for you, Ilya. Because in following that plan the world got to see you as the exceptional player that you are but was deprived of everything that makes you even more exceptional off the ice. Nobody could see your compassion, your insight, your incredible patience, your gentle nature, your intelligence, the way you express yourself, the gratitude you have, your strength. And, well, I just couldn’t stand to live in a world where that continued for even one moment longer.
The Ilya Rozanov you all know is only a tiny little facet that is part of the most phenomenal man I have ever met. He has kept up this façade of the nonchalant ladies’ man for years by sacrificing the real poet underneath. Because he is also great and he also wanted to make people proud and he has always tried really hard too.
Look, I have always loved hockey. It’s an incredible sport, full of incredible people. I knew from a very young age it was my calling. But I will forever be in its debt because it brought me to you, Ilya. And you are the single most important thing to me in this life. I believe it was always calling me to you.
So, Ilya, I am sorry that I have loved you for so long and am only saying this now. I hope you will watch this with me and then do two things. Firstly, I hope you will forgive me.
There was a pause before the interviewer realised Shane was finished.
‘I am speechless. I don’t even know where to begin.’
It’s okay. I think that’s probably the time I was allocated well and truly spent and I assume there’ll be some debriefing to plan for after this...
‘Uh, yes. Well, thank you for choosing us and now to share this. It’s a brave and commendable act. I am sure Rozanov, sorry, Ilya, is watching this with you now, listening to all your heartfelt words.’
He will be, I’ll make sure of it. Hi, moy lyubimyy!
TV-Shane waved at the camera.
‘But wait, before we go, what is the second thing you want him to do? If you don’t mind sharing one more thing with us, that is.'
Oh, well. Sure. But give me a moment, I want Ilya to experience it first.
‘Okay… I’m not quite sure what to do here but it’s a night of firsts so what the hell.’
It will only take a second. Maybe you can replay some highlights while we wait, haha.
A generic song began playing as the interviewer and TV-Shane exchanged smiles and muted small talk.
Ilya was trembling as he felt around him for anything solid to hold onto. He reached behind him for Shane, but he wasn’t there. Instead, all Ilya could feel was the buzzing of their phones that had been relentless since the interview had started.
“Ilya…?”
Shane had moved off the couch and was kneeling next to him on the floor, holding out a little box that somehow held every single one of Ilya’s wildest hopes and dreams.
“Will you marry me?”
For a moment Shane wondered if Ilya was going to black out. He quickly assessed the location of any hard corners Ilya may fall on in case it really did eventuate. Before Shane’s eyes could make their way back to looking at who was hopefully now his fiancé, Ilya was covering Shane in a mixture of gasps and tears.
Are we back? Okay, cool, well... Secondly, I want Ilya to say yes and marry me. Hopefully that was enough time for me to propose and that he has actually said yes. Otherwise, this is going to be pretty awkward for future me and not something I have a plan for.
‘This is just… Unbelievable. Well, you two have never been ones to do anything by halves, so this is quite on brand in a way. Congratulations to you both. There you have it, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, a hidden love story for the history books rather than what we all thought was a simple case of rivals turned unlikely friends. An exclusive, indeed.’
Thank you, I am really happy we could do this.
“Yes. A thousand yeses. It has always been yes. Oh my god, Shane. I do not understand. I am in shock. I love you. What has even just happened?”
“I just finally told the truth. But I am sorry I hid it all from you.”
“Are you kidding? That was the best documentary I have ever seen in my life. It even had a twist.”