Chapter Text
Ilya’s phone should not be playing a cheery little song right now. He set himself a mental reminder to change it to something less annoying than the default ringtone as he groped for it on the side table. It was still dark, and his head pounded with the beginnings of a hangover. His boyfriend was warm and breathing softly against his side, and Ilya should be curling up against him instead of dealing with whoever the fuck had decided to call his phone at this ungodly hour.
“What?” He snapped when he answered the unknown number.
“Rozanov?” The man on the other end said uncertainly. “This is Shane Hollander.” As if Ilya wouldn’t recognize his voice.
Ilya glanced at the time on his phone screen. “What the fuck do you want at five fucking a.m. Hollander?”
“I thought you’d be up already for your workout.”
“Maybe you drink a glass of milk and go to bed early after your team wins a game at home, but I get drunk and have celebratory sex with my boyfriend.”
“I celebrate sometimes,” Hollander said in a voice that made Ilya picture an angry kitten puffing out its fur as it prepared to fight a cucumber. “Maybe a single win is less exciting after winning three Stanley Cups.”
That smug bastard. “Bye.” Ilya moved the phone away from his face to hit the end call button.
“Wait! I’m sorry I called so early, it’s just when I was thinking of it and I didn’t want to forget later. I needed to ask you something.”
Ilya grumpily brought the phone back to his ear. “Then ask.”
“Will you help with the charity camp I’m running this summer? I know it’s last minute and you probably have plans, but one of our coaches just dropped out and I need to find a replacement.”
“So I’m your second choice.”
“Sort of? My dad had the idea while I was talking to him last night, he thinks it could be good PR for the camp if you join on, it could be an unlikely friendship thing. You know, like those videos of a dog being friends with a duck.”
“I’m the dog,” Ilya said immediately.
“I wasn’t asking you to pick an animal! I just wanted to know if you’re interested.”
Ilya heard what might have been a chair creak in the background and wondered where Hollander was calling him from. The gym? His bedroom? Had Hollander gotten dressed yet, or was he still in what he’d worn to bed? He probably wore something boring, like a matching pajama set.
Ilya’s boyfriend mumbled something against his side. Ilya whispered he’d be a minute then got up and stepped out into the dark hallway. “What would I be doing for the charity camp, exactly? Publicity? Paperwork?”
“You’d just be coaching the kids for two weeks at the beginning of July at the Ottawa camp. I’ve got all the paperwork handled. I guess we’d need a headshot, but you can just send one over.”
Ilya turned the idea over in his head. He only knew about the charity from a press release that had been put out last fall. Hollander was working with a couple players from the PWHL on it with the goal of increasing inclusivity in hockey. They were supporting organizations that pushed for policy changes to protect trans athletes, more ice time for women, better safeguards against hazing in the men’s leagues. Ilya wished them luck with their way too broad mission statement, but he hadn’t intended on getting involved. He’d come out of the closet shortly after Scott Hunter had to support him, and that was the sum total of Ilya’s political activity.
Maybe having a cause would be good for him.
“You want two weeks of my summer,” Ilya said slowly. “I did already have plans.”
Hollander sighed over the phone. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“I’ll think about it. Talk to my boyfriend. I can text you at this number when I decide?”
“Yeah, sure. No, Mildred, don-” The phone call abruptly cut off. That answered one question, at least. Hollander was at his house. Mildred was his cat, a fact Ilya only knew because he’d watched that stupid documentary about their rivalry that had been put out at the beginning of the season.
Ilya had filmed an interview for it last summer, and then a camera crew had come over to his house to wander around taking footage.
“Is my car collection relevant to the rivalry?” Ilya had asked as he’d stood in his garage with the producer and her film crew.
“All the partying and cars stuff is a great contrast to Hollander,” she’d said. “You’ll see when it comes out, all the footage we’ve filmed for the Hollander half of things is so domestic, you’d call it boring. He spends a lot of time with his parents, his cat, his friends. Did you know his friend’s kids call him Uncle Shane? It’s adorable.”
“Hollander has a cat?” Ilya had always wanted a dog, but… “Who watches it when he’s on the road?”
“His parents.”
Of course. Of course perfect Hollander was surrounded by people who loved him and would watch his stupid cat.
“You’ve really got it made here, huh?”
Ilya snapped back to the reality of his car garage when the producer spoke. “Yes. When I was a child I dreamed of having a car collection like this and now… I have everything.” He was at the top of the world. Was the top of the world supposed to feel like this?
The film crew packed up and left, and Ilya was alone in an empty house. He walked through the unused guest rooms, he didn’t know why. Then he called Sveta. “Marry me.”
She laughed so hard that he had to wait until she was done to get another word in.
“What’s so funny? I’d be a good husband.”
“Ilyushka,” she said fondly. “You don’t want to marry me. Why are you proposing? Did you need something?”
“No. No, Sveta, I don’t need anything.” He needed to not be alone. He needed to not feel empty.
He went out clubbing, because he was hoping it would take away the restless energy buzzing inside him. Fabian Salah was playing the club that night, and Ilya had been enthralled immediately by the sex sorcerer with a voice like an angel. Ilya had flirted with Fabian, scored a date, and decided to fall in love. All you need is love, wasn’t that something people were constantly saying? Ilya just had to fall in love with Fabian, and all his problems would be solved.
It hadn’t happened yet, but Ilya was sure he was on the cusp of it. He’d thought maybe he was falling in love when they’d gone up in a hot air balloon together, but it had turned out the swooping in his stomach was a newfound fear of heights and he’d laid down on the floor of the basket until they were back on the ground. He’d been hopeful that nausea might be a sign of love when they’d gone on a boat outing together, but that one had just been seasickness. Still. Fabian was fun and hot, Ilya adored him, and he was going to fall in love with him. He’d made plans to spend his summer with Fabian while he was on tour, and then they were going to Paris after the tour was done.
Spending two weeks in Ottawa with Shane Hollander would disrupt a good chunk of that, which was why he shouldn’t agree.
Ilya slipped back into bed quietly. Fabian nuzzled up against him. “Who was that?” His boyfriend asked sleepily.
Ilya hesitated. There was no reason for it. It wasn’t like Fabian was going to say, Your arch-rival! Were you thinking about what he was wearing the whole time?
“It was just Shane Hollander,” Ilya said as dismissively as he could manage. “He wants me to help coach at his charity summer camp in July.”
“That’s nice. You love coaching kids.”
“But I was planning on following you around being your muscular roadie.”
“Babe, I can hire a roadie. Where’s the camp?”
“Ottawa, and it’s the whole first two weeks of July.”
“Okay, so we can still go to Paris afterwards, and I’m making a stop in Ottawa anyway so we’ll still see each other. Did you want to go?”
This would have been easier if Fabian had just rejected the idea out of hand. Now Ilya would have to make up his own mind. “Yes,” Ilya finally said. “I want to go.”
By the time July came, Fabian had managed to arrange it so he could travel with Ilya to Ottawa for the start of the camp. Ilya had managed to get a bright yellow Audi Spyder as his rental car, so they arrived at the location they’d been given for the initial meeting in style, Ilya’s bags shoved into the minuscule trunk of the car. Luckily he traveled light, and Fabian’s things had already been sent ahead to the tour bus.
Ilya recognized the place when they pulled up in the driveway. It was Hollander’s home, the one he’d bought when he’d left Montreal to sign with Ottawa two years ago. It had been a weird choice that none of the hockey podcasters had ever found an explanation for. Maybe Ilya should ask him.
“House full of hockey players,” Fabian muttered. “Great.”
“Hollander’s running it,” Ilya said. “He wouldn’t invite the assholes. Except for me.” Besides, if anyone gave his boyfriend trouble for wearing makeup, Ilya would simply punch them in the face.
Fabian shot him an amused smile at that. “Yeah, the charity looks nice. But I’m leaving you here and fleeing to save myself as soon as we’re done with polite introductions.”
“Deal.”
They walked to the front door together, Fabian’s hand lightly on his arm. Ilya wasn’t sure if this was the sort of thing you were supposed to just barge into, so he knocked. Hollander answered the door wearing a Centaur’s jersey and sweats. He looked… The thing about Hollander was…
Ilya carefully looked away. “Nice house,” he said, because it was the sort of thing you were supposed to say. “Hollander, this is my boyfriend, Fabian Salah. Fabian, this is the world’s most boring hockey player, Shane Hollander.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ilya says lovely things about you behind your back,” Fabian said as he held out his hand for Hollander to shake.
“You’re hotter in person,” Hollander said as he took Fabian’s hand, sounding weirdly disappointed. “Sorry, I mean, nice to meet you.”
Fabian was ridiculously hot with his sparkly eyeliner and his androgynous outfit with an overcoat that flared out in a way that nearly looked like a dress. Normally Ilya would puff up with pride at compliments about his boyfriend, but Hollander was standing right there and… Ilya would never compare his boyfriend to someone else, obviously. Fabian was so one of a kind there was no comparing him, anyway. And Hollander and Fabian were so unalike that trying to hold them up against each other would be like debating the beauty of an albatross versus a butterfly. But the thing about Hollander was…
“Hollander, your mom wants to know when catering is getting here.” Ryan Price lumbered down the hallway toward them, his enormous frame and red hair unmistakable.
“Ryan?” Fabian said.
Fabian knew Ryan Price? How? It couldn’t haven been from an interest in hockey.
“Fabian,” Ryan smiled shyly. He looked happier than Ilya had ever seen him before. What was going on?
“You two know each other?” Ilya asked.
Fabian blinked a couple times then looked up at him. “My parents used to board junior hockey players. We were kids last time we met.”
“Okay.” Ilya tried to make sense of this new piece of information about his rock star boyfriend. “Were you going to take off?”
“No, I think I’ll stay for a bit. Catch up with Ryan.”
“I’ll get you drinks,” Hollander said, waving them all into the house. “Are any of you driving?”
“Fabian’s band mates are picking him up,” Ilya said. “But I assume I’ll need to drive to the hotel? I think I still need the booking information.”
“Oh no.” Hollander pressed his hand to his forehead in a move that seemed oddly rehearsed. Hollander was always a bit awkward, though, so maybe it was just that. “I completely forgot to book your hotel. I meant to add you to the room block with the rest of the coaches. This was a completely preventable error, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll just call the hotel-”
“No! No, it was my mistake, you can stay here. I have a guest room you can use. We could carpool to the camp together.”
Ilya hesitated and glanced over at his boyfriend. “Okay. That’s probably fine.” He’d check with Fabian before he left to make sure.
Ryan and Fabian found a couch out of the way to sit on while they chatted. The rest of the group assembled in Hollander’s spacious living room were Hollander’s friends J.J. and Hayden, of course, along with Wyatt Hayes and Carter Vaughn. There were a few other people that Ilya didn’t recognize who he’d need to meet later.
Hollander grabbed a few bottles from the drink cart. “I’ve got vodka if you want it, Rozanov. I tried to find the good stuff. I’ll be cutting mine with soda, I have no idea why you drink it straight.”
“You can’t cut it with soda, you’ll ruin it.”
“Making it drinkable isn’t ruining it, there are recipes-”
“Those recipes are wrong! Do you trust everything written in a recipe?”
“Well if it’s in a book someone must have tested it.”
“So? Mixing vodka with soda is criminal behavior.”
Hollander looked him dead in the eye as he cracked open a soda and poured it into a glass at the same time as the vodka. Ilya choked.
“Did you two used to date?” Fabian asked out of the blue.
Ilya and Hollander both froze.
“You’ve got this…” Fabian waved a hand. “Divorced couple energy.”
Hollander recovered first, pouring Ilya his vodka then returning the bottles to the cart. “We don’t have divorced couple energy. We hooked up once a million years ago.”
“Ten years ago,” Ilya corrected immediately. “I am not a million years old, Hollander. You are confusing me with Scott Hunter. I am the young and beautiful one.”
“Whatever.” Hollander sipped his drink. “It was the summer before our rookie season, and it never happened again. I should go talk to my parents about the catering.”
“I wasn’t trying to cover that up,” Ilya told Fabian. “Hollander isn’t out, and it didn’t feel right to mention it without talking to him.”
“Shit, I should’ve kept that as an inside thought. I’m sorry,” Fabian said.
“You didn’t know,” Ilya said. “If you’re not comfortable with me staying here I can get a hotel.”
Fabian sighed. “No, I trust your judgement. And you could always leave later if you change your mind. I’ve got to head out, the band is waiting for me. I’ll see you in a week, babe.” He pressed a kiss to Ilya’s cheek. “Ryan.” Fabian’s and Ryan’s gazes locked for a moment. Something passed between them Ilya couldn’t decipher, and then Fabian left with one final wave of his sparkling fingernails.
Ilya wasn’t sure anyone should trust his judgement where Hollander was concerned. Ilya searched for him across the room as if he was a magnet drawing in Ilya’s attention. The thing about Hollander was, every time Ilya looked at him his heart lifted and the world grew a little bit lighter. He never felt that way about anyone else except for Shane fucking Hollander.