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    The first sound Ilya hears is a thin, discordant symphony of beeps and whirs. Something vibrating. 

    The next thing he hears is…wet. A sort of shaking, gargling sound, that feels like the ugliest crying he’s ever heard. And through it, Shane’s voice. 

    “I’m with him now, mom. He’s— he’s not fine. He’s not. I know—”

    Ilya wants to ask who's not fine, but he can’t feel his own body, his mouth, enough to ask.

    “Yeah,” Shane is saying, only slightly calmer. “I know. He wasn’t breathing—"

    Ilya knows there's a link, between the clinical musicality of medical settings, Shane’s audible, awful distress, and his own physical incapacity. It’s just, it’s so tenuous, and the air around him is so thick, so heavy. It would be easy, to sleep, a little. 

    -
    Footage of the last game between Ottawa and Montreal is everywhere; it’s breached containment from the sports world, and now it seems like everyone is baying for Montreal’s blood. Except, Ilya is oblivious. Not exactly blissfully so, but as the fight for accountability within the league rages on without him, Ilya just wants someone, anyone, to tell him what happened.

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    13 Jun 2026

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    "I did. After MLH awards, in June. Oh, I did not tell him about Shane and me. But what he did, it was important. It changed things. For me, at least - maybe for us."

    On the night of the MLH awards, Ilya corners Scott Hunter on a quiet balcony.

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    03 Jun 2026

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    Shrugging one shoulder far more casually than he possibly feels, Ilya says, “I like both. Is secret, okay?”

    “Okay,” Hollander says, voice cracking.

    He doesn’t say anything else. The air’s so heavy around them that it feels like being in the middle of a scrum, the weight and heat of all those bodies pressing down on you. Danger always feels like hockey; it’s the most dangerous thing Ilya knows, except for this. Everything dangerous in his life involves men’s bodies and just how close he can get to them. Closer than he probably should.

    A year after mysteriously dropping out of the 2009 draft, Shane Hollander is signed by the Boston Raiders, right behind Ilya Rozanov. Having the two biggest stars in the league on the same line is great for Boston — but playing alongside their worst rival was never exactly in Shane or Ilya's plans. Especially not when staying away from each other starts to feel just as impossible as getting along.

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    02 Jun 2026

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    Shane does not pull away, does not speak, does not kiss him again, just holds him like it is easier than letting him go, rocking them slowly back and forth on the edge of the mattress. There is a damp patch on his very nice new shirt where Ilya has failed to swallow back his tears, but he is cradling Ilya to him, anyway, like it doesn’t matter. Like it costs him nothing to do it.
    Nobody has touched Ilya this way in a very, very long time. He had forgotten that it was possible to be handled with care—to be treated like a breakable object, instead of a broken one.

    OR: What happened in the hotel room after the Tampa Bay All-Stars Game.

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    24 May 2026

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    They toe off their shoes in the entryway and Shane looks around, pulling in a deep breath and letting it go. Two hours ago, his dad had walked in on him and Ilya and Shane had thought the world was ending. Now, the world seems bigger and more plausible than ever, like a smooth, fresh field of ice, stretching all the way to the horizon, just waiting for his skates to mark it up. He turns, and there is Ilya, hands in his pockets, watching Shane with a look of lazy contentment on his face as if he feels it, too.

    OR: Two weeks at the cottage.

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    24 May 2026