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“Did you hear the news?” Hayden called into Shane’s ear, not even offering a greeting.
“What news?” Shane asked, running a towel over his face. He’d just stepped off his treadmill when his phone had rung with Hayden’s call. All he wanted was to take a shower.
“The club traded for Ilya fucking Rozanov!”
Shane’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking,” he blinked.
“I wished,” Hayden snorted. “122 million euros for that motherfucker! Record transfer! Can you bloody believe it?!”
Shane wished he couldn’t, but the truth was… well, Rozanov was pretty brilliant on the field. Not 122 million euros brilliant, because the sums clubs paid for transfers these days were just absurd, but the man had not been the MVP of LaLiga for nothing. Shane could not believe Deportivo Madrid was giving Rozanov up, actually. He was their captain, after all.
But there had been rumours of discord within the team ever since the assault allegations against Dallas Kent and the succeeding fallout with Troy Barrett. Dallas and Troy had been Madrid’s dream forward duo, until Troy had stood with the women accusing Dallas of sexual assault.
Troy had been traded the following season, first to Wolfsburg in Germany, then, after a spectacular season there, to London City, where he was now playing with Shane and Hayden.
Shane had been suspicious of Troy, at first. Troy hadn’t had the best reputation before his fallout with Kent. He had always been an uncomfortable player to play against, and sort of a dick, if Shane was being honest. But since his transfer to London, Shane had gotten to know him better and grown to like him.
“I wonder if he’s tired of playing with Kent,” Shane frowned. “Troy said Rozanov never tolerated any of their shit before the assault allegations, and he stood with Troy after he confronted him about it.”
“Right,” Hayden replied, his voice dark. “I really don’t understand how Kent is still allowed to play for them. How did they trade Troy but not Kent?! Kent should be out of a job after everything.”
“Well, they haven’t been able to charge him with anything yet, and you know how clubs are, as long as there are no charges, they rally behind their stars,” Shane rolled his eyes. “Plus, he was the league’s top scorer. You go figure.”
Hayden made a disgusted sound. Shane agreed wholeheartedly.
“Still, though,” Hayden sighed. “Did he have to come here, of all places? I mean, it’s Rozanov. And with your rivalry - ”
“That’s mostly media bullshit and you know it,” Shane said quickly.
“It’s so not!” Hayden argued. “I mean, Rozanov is always an arsehole, but he’s twice the arsehole when he plays against you.”
Shane wished he could deny that, but… he would be lying.
Shane had grown up in Ealing. He’d started out playing for the Wembley F.C. youth division, and had quickly been scouted for City. He’d made his Premier League debut with seventeen, and had been playing for the team ever since.
Ilya Rozanov had started playing for London United when they’d both been nineteen. He’d been traded straight from Rubin Moscow and had made a big splash in their local rival’s team.
Ilya and Shane’s rivalry on the pitch had been media effective and very foreseeable: They’d played in rivalling teams, on the same position, and were both considered exceptionally talented in their generation.
It was Rozanov, though, who had leaned into it from the beginning, shit-talking Shane every chance he got and playing dirty. And Shane was not proud of it, but he let himself be provoked by Rozanov the way he usually wasn’t by other players.
And now, they had to play together. That would be interesting, for sure.
“He’s going to gun for your position and your armband,” Hayden warned. “Mark my words.”
Shane snorted. “Let him try,” he said confidently.
Shane was always early on the day of the first training session of the season. Not only did he like to avoid the hound of reporters - which would be pandemonium this year because of Rozanov - but he liked to make sure he had enough time to greet everyone properly, from the equipment manager to his teammates.
Rozanov arrived with Troy and Wyatt, their keeper, who Shane remembered he’d briefly played with at United, though Wyatt had been reserve back then. He steeled himself and walked over to greet his new teammate.
For better or worse, he was the captain. It was his job to make this work.
“Rozanov,” he said, holding out his hand for a shake. The Russian turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Welcome to City.”
Rozanov smirked. “How pissed were you when you read the news, Hollander? Be honest,” he asked, in his marked Russian accent.
“Be nice, Ilya,” Wyatt rolled his eyes, elbowing him. “You’re on the same team now. You don’t have to antagonise each other anymore.”
“But where’s the fun in that?,” Rozanov sighed. “He always gets so bent out of shape about it.”
“Well, we need our captain in working order, so maybe tune it down?” Troy rolled his eyes, sending Shane an amused look.
Rozanov sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he said, finally shaking Shane’s hand. “You guys are no fun here in England. You cannot take a joke.”
“What, so you preferred playing with Kent?” Shane raised his eyebrows.
Ilya grimaced. “Point taken,” he agreed.
Shane would have preferred to stay as far away from Ilya Rozanov as possible during their first training session, with all the cameras there. He knew the press was dying to get a photo of them together.
But he knew that, if they wanted rumors of conflict between them to die down quickly, they needed to be seen working together. And so, naturally, coach Wiebe immediately paired them up for stretches and simple warm up exercises.
“So,” Rozanov asked, after a while, “how scared are you that I’ll steal your centre spot?”
Shane rolled his eyes and passed the ball back to him. “You won’t steal my anything,” he shot back. “I plan to keep my performance up and stay irreplaceable for coach and the team.”
“No one is irreplaceable, Hollander,” Rozanov scoffed. “Not even you.”
“Maybe,” Hollander allowed. “But I can try to be.” Rozanov rolled his eyes and passed the ball wider than necessary. Shane just caught it with his right foot. “I think coach is planning to change the system, actually,” he said, after passing back. “Make it 4-4-2, with both of us in the centre, and Troy and Bood in the front.”
“It would make sense,” Rozanov admitted, passing the ball back.
“In that case, we need to learn to work together,” Shane stressed. “Not against each other.”
Rozanov rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Relax,” he said. “We are both great players, yes? Will be great.”
Shane frowned, wondering if Ilya Rozanov had just complimented him, or if he had imagined that.
“Hollander!” Bood called out to him as he left the facilities after practice. “Barbecue at mine later! You coming?”
Shane smiled. “Sure. Is everyone else there?”
“Yup,” he grinned. “Gotta start off the season with a splash, don’t we?” he elbowed Shane. Then, he glanced at him and asked: “So, what do we think of Rozanov?”
“He’s a great player,” Shane said. “He can only help us.”
“I don’t want your press answer,” Bood scoffed. “What do you really think, mate?! It’s me!”
Shane chuckled. Bood was a City legend in his own right; he and Shane were the longest standing players in the team, by a mile. He was usually the person Shane handed his armband to when he left the field.
“I don’t know,” Shane sighed. “I just hope he behaves, is all.”
“We have an awesome group of chaps here,” he pointed out. “I’d hate for Rozanov to ruin that.”
“We said the same when Troy arrived,” Shane reminded him with a smirk.
“Well, how were we to know that underneath all that bullshit, Troy Barrett is an actual sweetheart?!” Bood rolled his eyes.
“Maybe Ilya Rozanov has a soft side hidden somewhere underneath all that snark,” Shane grimaced. When Bood raised his eyebrows, amused, Shane relented: “Really well hidden, admittedly.”
“He stood with Troy against that arsehole Kent,” Bood shrugged. “So he gets props for that.”
“Right.”
Bood sighed and clapped Shane’s shoulder. “I guess we’ll see tonight.”
Shane nodded. “Indeed.”
City had this reputation of being a commercial club without a heart, which Shane had always thought ridiculous. While he could agree that yes, the money that was flung around by his club was at times obscene, that was a general problem within the Premier League, or other leagues in Europe. But that didn’t mean that the people at his club weren’t decent.
For one, he had always been treated fairly and warmly by the management, and their staff and the current coach was absolutely fantastic.
And then, there was the team itself. Shane might be biased because he had been playing here for all of his active career, but he thought the group of players they had here were special. They were like a family to each other, and when Shane had decided to come out to them two years ago, none of them had even blinked an eye. They were unrelentingly supportive towards each other, and knowing how toxic the football business could be, Shane did not take that for granted.
So Shane understood Bood’s worries. But he wanted to believe that Ilya Rozanov could fit in. He might be a bit of a dick, but his team mates had always seemed to like him. Maybe he could be a fun kind of dick.
When Shane arrived at Bood’s house out in Greenwich, he was already at the grill, busily flipping burgers. Rozanov was standing on the terrace, surrounded by Evan Dykstra, Nick Chouinard and Luca Haas.
“Haasie basically adores him,” Hayden muttered, suddenly appearing next to Shane, offering him a beer. “Did you know he had a poster of him in his room as a child? Probably still has,” he muttered, taking a sip from his own bottle.
Shane snorted. “Give the poor kid a break,” he said. “Don’t you remember what it’s like, meeting your heroes?”
“Well, he has shit taste in heroes,” Hayden grumbled.
“He said he was a fan of me, too, dickhead!” Shane reminded him, laughing.
“Yeah, well,” Hayden shrugged, smirking. Shane kicked him.
“What are you doing, hiding over here?!” Jacquie, Hayden’s wife, asked, slinging an arm around her husband’s waist. “Are you gossiping again?”
“We never gossip,” Hayden argued.
“Of course, you don’t,” Jacquie deadpanned. She smirked at Shane and nodded towards the terrace. “Come on, the others are waiting!”
They followed her over to where the rest of the team was feasting on the first hamburgers and sausages Bood’s wife Cassie was handing out.
“Shane!” JJ, their central defenseman, called excitedly and wrapped an arm around him. “Finally! I wanted to talk to you.”
“That is never good news,” Shane said mildly, and the others laughed.
“No, listen,” JJ continued. “I know this guy -”
“No,” Shane said immediately.
“You don’t even know who he is!” JJ called, offended, and the others laughed.
“The last time you tried to set me up, it was the most awkward evening of my life,” Shane reminded him.
“Fine, so I miscalculated, so what?” JJ shrugged. “I learn from my mistakes. I know better now.”
“No,” Shane snorted. “I’m not interested in dating. I’m too focused on the team.”
“Mate, you need to get laid,” JJ argued. “It’s not healthy.”
“Fuck you,” Shane returned.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Troy chuckled. “Not everyone can date glamorously like you.”
“And not everyone can fall for the team’s social media manager,” Dykstra noted.
Troy flushed and Harris, said social media manager and Troy’s boyfriend, snorted.
Shane’s eyes fell onto Rozanov, then. His face was pensive and Shane worried about that for a moment. Then, he said: “This team is very different from my old one.”
“Of fucking course,” Nick Chouinard grumbled. “There’re no rapists here, for a start.”
Troy, though, met Rozanov’s gaze headon. “It really is,” he confirmed, smiling.
Rozanov smiled back. “Good to know I made the right choice, yes?” he said, tilting his bottle towards them in a toast. “To a good season.”
“To a fucking great season!” Bood called, and the others cheered.
Shane smiled. Maybe things would work out all right, after all.
“I did not know you like men.”
Shane looked up to find Rozanov next to him. Hayden and Jacquie had just left to pick up the kids and apparently, Rozanov had taken the opportunity to snatch his seat.
“Is that a problem?” Shane asked, defenses up right away.
“No,” Rozanov shrugged. “Was just surprised.”
Shane hummed. “I’m not publicly out like Scott Hunter,” he explained. “But I’m not hiding it anymore, either.”
Scott Hunter, Liverpool’s star centre, had publicly come out a few years ago. He had started the conversation about how football treated gay players and set a precedent for other players to come forward. Shane was grateful to him and he admired him immensely. He knew there was no way he would have had the courage to come out even to his teammates without him doing it first.
But he didn’t see any reason in putting himself through all the attention that would come with a public coming out when it wasn’t strictly necessary. He wasn’t dating. He wasn’t in a relationship. As long as there was nothing to hide, why make a fuss about it?
Rozanov hummed. They were silent for a long moment. Shane wondered if that was the extent of the conversation. Then he said, to Shane’s complete bewilderment: “I’m bi.”
Shane blinked, staring at him. “Oh,” Shane nodded. “Cool.”
Rozanov smirked. They drank their beer in silence, not saying anything else.
“Yes!” Wiebe called after a double pass maeuvre between Shane and Rozanov. “That’s what I’m talking about! Beautiful, you two!”
“The other teams won’t know what hit them!” Bood cackled. “We’ll go for the Treble this year!”
“Now, now, don’t be cocky!” Wiebe warned.
Shane couldn’t help but share his team mate’s enthusiasm, though. He’d been worried, at first, but playing with Ilya Rozanov was surprisingly easy. Their styles complimented each other and, Shane had to admit, it felt good to have a player next to him who could keep up with him. Sometimes, it felt like Rozanov read his mind and was exactly where he needed him to be, ready to receive his passes.
Troy hammered the ball into the right corner of the goal, impossible to intercept for their reserve keeper, Tommy López. Rozanov held his fist out for Shane to bump.
“I’ll make at least fifteen goals this season, I think,” Rozanov said, smirking. “You think you can beat me?!”
“Do you have to make everything into a competition?” Shane sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Is more fun this way,” Rozanov chuckled.
The thing that Shane had never admitted to anyone, not to Hayden, not to his elementary school best friend Rose, not to JJ, was that he had always found Ilya Rozanov unfairly attractive.
He was infuriating. But also, Shane would not have kicked him out of bed if he’d ever got the chance.
It was never much of a problem because in the past, the most he’d seen him was a couple of times a year when their teams had faced off against each other. Sometimes, not even that, once he’d left for Spain.
But now, he was always right there , with that ridiculous smirk and those quips that made Shane’s blood boil and his stupid sweaty curls and all Shane wanted to do was tackle him into the grass and snog him senseless.
But he was going to control himself. He was this team’s bloody captain. He was one of the most respected players in the league. He could shove those feelings down where no one would ever find them and play the way he always did.
After all, he had years of practice pretending.
“I can’t wait to absolutely destroy Scott Hunter,” Rozanov smirked. “It’s been a while.”
“Scott is a good bloke,” Shane frowned. “And what he’s done for LGBTQ+ players not only in football but in sports in general is amazing, so -”
“Blah,” Rozanov grimaced, making Shane glower at him.
“It’s not ‘blah’!” Shane insisted heatedly. “This is important! I thought you’d care!”
“I care,” Rozanov shrugged. “I care every other day of the year. But not when I play against him. Then, I want to make him cry.”
“You are impossible,” Shane grumbled. “It's not even an important match. Those pre-season things are always -”
“What?” Rozanov raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like winning?”
“Of course, I do!” Shane huffed. “But I don’t need to make it personal!”
“Oh, so you didn’t enjoy winning against me?!” Rozanov teased. Shane closed his mouth, flushing slightly. “Thought so,” Rozanov nodded, sounding satisfied.
HOLLANDER AND ROZANOV - THE NEW BROMANCE IN CITY’S CENTRE
“You know,” Rose snorted. “For such a homophobic newspaper, The Sun is pretty gay.”
Shane snorted. “Stop it,” he complained.
“No, I think they ship you!” she insisted. “Did you read this?”
“I try to ignore the press,” Shane reminded her.
“Well, it’s extremely homoerotic, let me tell you. I’ve never seen a pass described as ‘sensual’ before.”
Shane groaned and Rose laughed.
“So how is it?” she asked, putting the horrid article down. “Playing with Rozanov? I mean, you absolutely pulverized Liverpool in that test match, so I’d think it’s going well.”
Shane shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said.
Rose raised her eyebrows. “Is he still driving you mad?” she asked.
“Daily,” he confirmed. She studied him carefully. “What?” he snapped.
“He’s very attractive,” she pointed out.
“Is he?” Shane said airily.
“Come off it,” she rolled her eyes. “You know he is. Didn’t he rank in the top five of sexiest players in the Spanish league? And that’s Spain. Have you seen those players?!”
“I did not follow that,” Shane lied. Rozanov had placed fourth, and Shane thought he’d been robbed.
Rose kicked his foot under the table. Shane kicked her back. He refused to meet her eyes.
“You like him,” she said softly. “Don’t you?”
“No,” Shane lied.
Rose frowned. “I thought you were done hiding?” she asked.
Shane gulped. That was before he had found himself in the absurd situation of fancying a teammate.
“I can’t like him,” Shane reminded her. “We’re on the same team. That’s my hard line.”
“I don’t think feelings work that way,” Rose frowned.
“Well, they’ll have to,” Shane shrugged, and willed himself to believe it.
“You're in my seat, Rozanov,” Hayden grumbled, glaring down at where Rozanov had taken up the space next to Shane before he could.
“I did not know that this was kindergarten,” Rozanov scoffed. “Are our seats assigned by coach?”
“Fuck you,” Hayden snapped.
“You wished, Pike,” Rozanov smirked.
“I always sit next to Shane on the bus!” Hayden complained, looking at Shane for help, but before he could even open his mouth to respond, Rozanov had already shot back: “Why, Hayden, does your wife know you feel that way about our captain?”
Hayden flushed, flipped him off and wordlessly moved on to take the free seat next to JJ.
“That was unnecessary,” Shane pointed out.
“But it was fun,” Rozanov grinned back. Shane rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone, planning to ignore the other man for the ride to the hotel where they’d be staying for the next two weeks of their training camp.
“You played well the other day, against Liverpool,” Rozanov said. Shane looked up again. “Not as well as I did,” he added with a grin, “but good enough.”
“And here I thought you were actually giving me a compliment,” Shane drawled.
“Have to keep your head the right size, yes?” Rozanov shrugged.
“I think it's your head we need to worry about, not mine,” Shane pointed out.
“My head's the perfect size,” Rozanov scoffed. “Didn't you see that header of mine? It was beautiful.”
It had been indeed, but like hell would Shane tell him that.
“The hotel has nice bar,” Rozanov said, out of nowhere. “Come have a drink with me later, okay?”
“I don't drink throughout the season,” Shane said automatically.
“It's not the season yet!” Ilya argued.
“Training camp is an important part of it,” Shane shrugged, standing his ground.
“Boring,” Rozanov scoffed. “Okay. Drink water then, I don't care. Just come have a drink with me.”
Shane stared at him. “Why?” he asked, confused.
“Why not?” Rozanov shrugged. “You said we need to get along.”
“Yes…” Shane agreed, frowning.
“So have a drink with me. Drink a stupid ginger ale and pretend you like me for half an hour.”
Shane wanted to ask how Rozanov knew that he liked to drink ginger ale but refrained.
“Fine,” he nodded. “Let's have a drink.”
Rozanov looked far too pleased at his reply. Shane wondered if it was a trap.
This was weird, wasn't it? It was definitely weird. But then again, he reasoned, as he took a nervous sip from his bottle of ginger ale, he hung out with teammates all the time. None of that had ever seemed weird to him.
Why should it be different just because it was Ilya Rozanov?
“Your parents,” Rozanov said suddenly.
“Yes?” Shane blinked.
“They come to the home games, yes?” he asked. “I see them.”
Shane smiled. “Yes. They're very supportive.”
“You're lucky,” Rozanov replied, taking a sip of his beer.
“I know,” Shane nodded. “They're great. We're very close.” He paused before asking: “What about your family?”
Rozanov was silent for a moment and Shane wondered if he shouldn't have asked.
“My parents are dead,” he said eventually. “And my brother is in Russia. We don't talk. He's an asshole.”
Shane winced. “Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have -”
Rozanov waved him off. “Is okay,” he said. “My father was an asshole, too. I don't miss him.”
“And your mother?” Shane asked quietly.
“Died a long time ago.”
Shane tried to imagine what that must have been like.
“You must have been glad to leave Russia,” he said eventually. “To start anew.”
Rozanov chuckled. “You have no idea.”
Shane looked at him. “Do you ever go back?”
“No,” Rozanov shook his head. “Is not my home anymore. And I don't agree with what's happening there. Would be dangerous.”
Shane nodded. He might not be overly political, but he wasn't naive, either. It had been a big scandal when Rozanov had resigned from the Russian national team a couple of years ago, with him being the captain. He had not given any reasons for the decision, but they had been heavily speculated. And he knew that the Russian State did not take kindly to dissidents - not to mention that he now knew that Rozanov was bisexual.
“Where is your home?” Shane decided to ask instead.
“I don't know,” Rozanov pursed his lips. Their eyes met. “But I think I'd like it to be London. I always liked London.”
“I get that,” Shane smiled. “I think it's the best city in the world.”
“Maybe, if I live in the UK long enough, I can apply for citizenship someday,” Rozanov mused. “Might be nice.” He grinned. “Or I could just marry.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “I'm sure you're not lacking candidates.”
Rozanov’s eyes hung on his face for a long moment before he glanced away and swiftly changed the topic.
Shane had been a bit taken aback by Coach Wiebe’s choice of location for this year's training camp. In the past, it had been places like the US, Abu Dhabi, Shanghai, Barcelona - media effective and bloody hot. Shane had never particularly enjoyed the whole circus.
It seemed like Wiebe had put his foot down this year. “We've had weak starts to the last couple of seasons,” he'd explained to Shane, “and I think that's because we didn't take the time to properly focus on the team and more on the team’s image.”
So this year, they were going to Belgium. Ghent, to be exact, which wasn't too different from England, climatically speaking, so Shane counted his blessings. Despite it being the third largest city in Belgium, their hotel close to the training facilities they shared with the local club felt quiet. JJ knew a player from Club Gent from their days back in the French league, and they were soon introduced to more of the local players.
It was fun. It felt almost like a working holiday.
After a good week, they were invited out to the city centre.
“Ghent is hosting the biggest street festival in the world once a year, and it's happening right now!” JJ explained excitedly. “We can't miss this, can we?!”
“I'm sure coach wouldn't approve -” Shane started.
“Coach is coming with us,” Harris smirked. “And I'm getting pics for insta.”
“Oh,” Shane said weakly. “Glad we cleared that up.”
“Come on, Hollander!” Rozanov said, wrapping an arm around him. “Relax a little.”
“Have you met Shane?!” Hayden scoffed. “He doesn't know how to relax!”
Shane flipped him off. Rozanov grinned. “Is that a challenge?” He asked. “Because I'm sure I can make him.”
Shane groaned. “What have I got myself into?” He grumbled, and Rozanov laughed.
It was a beautiful day, Shane had to admit. The sun was out, but it wasn't too hot. The old city centre of Ghent was stunning, and the atmosphere was relaxed and fun.
They spent a while exploring the city. They went up the Belfry, enjoying the spectacular view. They visited the Gravensteen castle. They took a boat tour along the countless rivers and canals crossing the city.
And eventually, they ended up at one of the stages, scenically placed right in front of the cathedral. The band on stage included a whole bloody ensemble, and they were playing a mix of old-timey songs and popular ones.
Rozanov turned up next to him, holding a waffle with powdered sugar and two white wines.
“Here,” he said, pushing one of the plastic cups into Shane's hand. “You like white wine, right? Bood said so.”
“I do,” Shane said, “but you know I don't drink du-”
“Shh” Rozanov interrupted him. “It's not the season today. It's a fun night out with your teammates before the season starts, yes?”
Shane sighed, eyeing the wine in his hand. It did look good. He took a tentative sip and smiled at the taste.
“Here,” Rozanov said, holding out the waffle. “Take some. Might as well cheat all the way.”
Shane glowered at him, but he couldn't resist the sweet scent of the waffle. He broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, moaning as he chewed.
“Damn, this is good.”
“Told you,” Rozanov smirked.
“You're a bad influence,” Shane complained.
“The worst,” Rozanov agreed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I have to say,” Shane smiled, watching stray couples dancing to the music, others singing along. “I'm not usually into live music, but the atmosphere here is really nice.”
“What do you mean, you aren't into live music?” Rozanov frowned.
“Shane isn't into music ,” JJ scoffed. “Because he knows no music.”
“I know some music!” Shane argued.
“Literally, who?” JJ raised his eyebrows.
“I don't know,” Shane frowned. “Elvis Presley? Beethoven?”
JJ gave Rozanov a look and the Russian snorted. Shane grumbled to himself.
“You are so weird, Hollander,” Rozanov said, but somehow, it sounded affectionate from him. “Come on,” and before Shane knew what was happening, Rozanov had grasped his hand and he was pulling him forward.
“Wha-?!” Shane started to protest. “What are you -?!”
But then, Rozanov was whirling him around, and Shane had to cling on to not fall.
“Isn't it obvious, Hollander?” Rozanov smirked. “We're dancing!”
Their teammates whooped around them. Shane felt himself flush. “What the fuck?!” he managed to gasp out.
“Relax,” Rozanov leaned in to smirk at him, “and have some fun.”
And then, he bloody twirled Shane, and Shane couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. On stage, the band was singing “L is for the way you look at me,” and somewhere, Harris was taking pictures of them, or possibly a video. Shane should care. He couldn’t make himself.
“If you are trying to convince the fans we like each other now, I think you succeeded,” Shane called, but his protest sounded weak even to his own ears.
“I don't care about what the fans think,” Rozanov rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to see you laugh.”
Shane blinked, staring at him.
“V is very, very extraordinary -”
Rozanov twirled him around again, and Shane’s head was spinning.
That’s just how Rozanov is, he reminded himself, don’t let it get to your head.
As they kept migrating from stage to stage, their group dispersed. Shane tried to stick with Hayden and JJ but, inexplicably, ended up losing both of them.
The one who stayed by his side was, ironically, Ilya Rozanov.
“Don't worry,” Rozanov shrugged. “We all have a tram ticket. We know the way back to the hotel. No one will get lost.”
“You don't know that,” Shane argued, just because.
“Oh?” Rozanov smirked. “Do you think Pike will end up in the river? Because I'll tell him that.”
Shane rolled his eyes. Rozanov smirked and wrapped an arm around him.
“It's okay,” he said. “I'll make sure you get back home safe, Hollander.”
And that was…, strangely sweet, coming from Rozanov. Shane gulped and tried, in vain, not to fall even harder for him.
“Fuck off,” Shane mumbled, just because. Rozanov ignored him. He was humming along to the song the band was playing, some 90s rock thing. Bon Jovi, maybe? See, Shane knew some music. Shane’s eyes hung on Rozanov’s face, his easy smile, his chiselled jaw.
Rozanov met his eyes. “You want another drink?” he asked.
Shane nodded. Maybe alcohol wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.
They ended up on one of the rare staircases right next to the river after a while. It had surprisingly, been Rozanov who had suggested they go for a walk. Maybe he had noticed that Shane had reached his contingent of loud music for the day.
They had strolled through the streets of the old city aimlessly, slowly getting away from the noise, until they had found the scenic spot looking out directly onto the Gravensteen castle across the river. They sat down with their drinks, and Shane was grateful for the moment of relative peace.
“You know,” Shane smirked at him. “I think Coach would be proud of us tonight.”
Rozanov rolled his eyes. “Do you ever not think about football?”
“Well, I love the game,” Shane shrugged. “I love the team.”
“I can tell.”
“Don’t you?”
Rozanov hummed. “Maybe not in the same way you do. But yes.”
Shane didn’t know what that meant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. He looked out over the river again, taking in the view.
“You know, I’ve never really visited Belgium,” he said. “I mean, I’ve been here to play matches, but I never really visited .”
“Where do you go,” Rozanov asked, “in the off-season time?”
“The Lake District, mostly,” Shane shrugged. “Been going there with my family since I was young. Bought a holiday home there a couple of years ago. It’s a great place to relax.”
“So you never travel?” Rozanov frowned.
“Not really,” Shane shook his head. “You travel much?”
“I’ve been all over,” he nodded. “Has been getting a bit boring, though,” he added, with a frown.
“Why is that?” Shane asked.
Rozanov shrugged. He glanced at Shane and smirked. “Maybe I need a travelling partner, yes?” he said.
Shane snorted. “Maybe.” Shane took another sip of his drink. Then, he realised that Rozanov’s eyes were still on him. “Hm?” Shane hummed questioningly.
Rozanov was chewing on his lip, as if debating something. Then, he said, his tone surprisingly serious: “You’re very beautiful.”
Shane’s heart skipped a beat. He searched Rozanov’s eyes for any trace of a joke, but there was none.
He saw the other man hesitate. Then, he leaned in just the slightest bit. When Shane didn’t pull away, he leaned in even further.
Shane was thinking that he should stop this. That they were teammates and nothing good could come out of letting - whatever was going to happen happen. But…
But Shane had been secretly wanting this for so long, and the alcohol and the evening spent around Rozanov and his casual touches had lowered his resistance. He couldn’t have stopped him if he’d tried.
And so, when Rozanov’s lips brushed his, he closed his eyes and kissed him back.
The kiss was surprisingly sweet, at first, but soon deepened. Rozanov’s fingers threatened through his hair. Shane grasped onto the other man’s bicep, holding on for dear life.
When they finally pulled up for air, Rozanov didn’t go very far. He brushed his nose against Shane’s and pressed their forehead’s together, panting against Shane’s lips.
“This is such a bad idea,” Shane whispered.
“I don’t care,” Rozanov shook his head. “Been wanting this for so long.”
“Yeah?” Shane asked, surprised, hopeful.
Rozanov pressed another gentle kiss to Shane’s lips, as if he couldn’t help himself.
“Since our first season,” he breathed.
Shane’s eyes flew open in shock. “What?!” he gasped.
“Why do you think I always teased you?!” Rozanov scoffed. “I liked how you looked at me when you got all angry. It was hot.”
“I - what?”
Rozanov kissed over Shane’s cheek down his jaw and neck before pressing his nose into the sensitive skin of his throat, inhaling his scent.
“I left United because I couldn’t stand it any more,” he muttered. “This ridiculous crush on you. I thought I would get over you when I was in another country. But I hated Madrid. And every time I saw you, I just wanted you more and more.”
Shane thought, through the heady fog of Rozanov’s confession, that maybe, Rozanov was the tiniest bit drunk, and would not be saying any of this without the influence of alcohol. He should probably be stopping him.
“Rozanov -” he said, his voice strained.
“Ilya,” the other man whispered, against his throat. “Call me Ilya.”
Shane shuddered. “Ilya,” he breathed. “You are drunk.”
He snorted and looked up at him in amusement. “I’m Russian,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I’m not even tipsy. I had just enough to speak better English.”
“Is that a thing?” Shane frowned.
“It is,” Rozanov rolled his eyes. “Ask anyone non-native speaker.” Shane made a mental note to ask JJ someday. “Fact is,” Rozanov continued, “I know what I’m doing, Shane.”
“Then why say it tonight?” he asked breathlessly.
Rozanov brushed a lock of hair out of Shane’s eyes. “Because I could not hold it back any more,” he said simply.
“Oh,” Shane breathed.
“I like you,” Rozanov murmured, pressing a kiss to Shane’s cheek. “I’m… in love with you. And I don’t need you to say it back, but I want you to know.”
Shane exhaled shakily. “I like you, too,” he whispered. “I think I might be falling for you, too. And I’ve been trying so hard to stop it.”
Rozanov smiled. “Well, don’t,” he said. “Is impossible, anyway.”
Shane rolled his eyes, and Rozanov laughed and kissed him.
When Shane woke up, he was wrapped in the strong, warm arms of Ilya Rozanov.
For a moment, he panicked. Then, he remembered last night’s events and relaxed a bit.
They were in Ilya’s room. His roommate, Luca Haas, had already been passed out in the lounge room when they had returned.
Ilya was still sleeping, his arms wrapped firmly around him. Shane allowed himself a few more minutes of bliss before allowing reality to sink back in.
He picked up his phone from the night stand. He eight missed messages and eleven missed calls from Hayden (also, two from JJ).
Where are you? Sorry we lost you.
Shane? Are you already back at the hotel?
We’re back and you’re not here. Where are you?
I’m worried, mate. Please answer your phone!!
You’d better not be lying dead in a ditch! I’m not explaining that to your mother!
Shane, come on, this isn’t like you!
I asked JJ to call you, too, but no response. He said you probably just got laid. You better had. I swear.
I’m going to bed now, but if you’re not there when I wake up, I’ll call the bloody police.
With each message he read, Shane felt worse. He quickly typed a response.
I’m alive, please don’t call the police. I’m sorry I worried you. Nothing happened, I swear.
Shane, thank God!
… wait, did you really get laid?!
… no comment
I didn’t think I’d see the day! But next time, don’t scare me like that, okay?!
Yes, sorry.
It’s okay. Glad you’re good. Or more than good, I guess.
Okay, I’m out.
I want all the details later!
Shane put his phone down and suppressed a groan.
“What are you going to tell Hayden?” Ilya asked, making Shane twitch.
“How long have you been awake?!” he demanded.
“Not long,” Ilya shrugged, kissing the back of his neck. “Are you going to tell him I was the best you ever had?!”
“Fuck you,” Shane laughed, elbowing him. Ilya just held him tighter.
“Are you going to tell him at all?” Ilya asked, more softly.
“I don’t know,” Shane frowned. “Should I? I feel like others knowing can only bring trouble, right?”
“They are okay about Harris and Troy,” Ilya reminded him.
“Harris is not a player on this team,” Shane pointed out.
“So?” Ilya shrugged, his voice defensive. “Is not a problem in women’s football. There are lots of lesbian couples in the leagues, even married couples.”
“I know,” Shane said softly. “But it never happened in men’s football.”
“Well,” Ilya said. “Maybe someone should make the first step, like Hunter did, yes?”
Shane considered this. “It’s scary, though,” he breathed.
“I know,” Ilya nodded, kissing his shoulder. “And I won’t push you if you don’t want to say anything. But I’m tired of hiding how I feel about you. I have loved you for ten years, Shane. I am ready to be with you.”
Shane felt like his heart was going to explode. “I still can’t believe you’ve had feelings for me for such a long time,” he whispered.
Ilya shrugged and pressed another kiss to his shoulder. Shane turned in his arms and kissed him softly.
“Okay,” he nodded. “But let’s talk to coach first. Let’s hear what he was to say.”
Ilya smiled. “Somehow, I have a feeling Coach Wiebe won’t be a problem at all.”
Wiebe was looking back and forth between them.
“You know,” he said, shaking his head. “I once wondered, out loud, in front of my wife if your rivalry wasn’t just suppressed attraction. I did not think I would be proven right this quickly.”
Shane flushed red. Ilya smirked.
“Right,” Wiebe said, leaning back in his chair. “So, you want to come out?”
“Only if it’s not going to be too much of a shit-show for the team,” Shane said.
Wiebe snorted. “Oh, it’s going to be a shit-show. But if that’s what you want, it shouldn’t stop you.”
“It shouldn’t?” Shane asked, his voice small.
“No,” Wiebe shrugged. “It’s your life. Your happiness. You should do what is best for you.” He smiled. “We’re a good team. We can withstand the heat. And I am confident that you two will play even better if you find happiness in your private life, and that you’re professional enough to keep your relationship off the pitch when it matters.”
“Of course,” Shane nodded.
“Then you have my support,” Wiebe smiled. “And, Shane, frankly, I think this club owes you all the support it can give after everything you’ve done for it. I think you’ll find a lot of people have your back.”
Shane smiled. “That’s nice to know.” He caught Ilya’s eyes, and Ilya sent him a soft smile.
“Rozanov?” Hayden grimaced. “Are you sure?”
“Now I at least know why you never wanted me to set you up,” JJ huffed.
“It had nothing to do with Ilya,” Shane rolled his eyes. “Your taste in men is horrible.”
“I would argue that your taste in men is horrible,” Hayden shook his head.
“I don’t know,” Bood shrugged. “If I were into men, I wouldn’t kick Roz out of bed.” Hayden gagged just as Troy walked into the lounge room. “Troy agrees with me!” Bood called.
“About what?” Troy raised his eyebrows.
“That Roz is hot,” Bood said.
“Of course, he agrees,” Ilya said, walking in after him. “How could he not?!”
Troy looked him over once, then shrugged and made a face. Ilya hit him with his towel as the others laughed.
“Why are we talking about whether Roz is hot?” Troy asked as Ilya crossed the room towards Shane and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, obnoxiously kissing his cheek. “Ahh,” he smiled. “I see.”
Shane and Ilya came out two weeks before the start of the season in an instagram post. The league, of course, went wild. There was a lot of negative press. A lot of think pieces whether a relationship like this was professional within a team on such a level. Plenty of hate comments from homophobic ‘fans’, and videos of people burning their Rozanov and Hollander jerseys.
There was also a lot of support. Homophobia in football and in sports in general was addressed anew. A lot of players, from women’s and men’s football, allied themselves with Shane and Ilya. Some other players came out on the heel of their announcement, claiming they found the courage through their example.
And even more fans who stood against them turned out to embrace their relationship.
At the season opener, the home curve was decorated with rainbow flags. Both Ilya and Shane scored that day, and Shane felt like they were going to be unstoppable this season.
“Tell you something,” Ilya smirked as he kissed him after the match. “If we win the treble, we marry.”
Shane grinned. “You’re on, Rozanov.”