Chapter Text
Shane Hollander had a very clear idea of what the day of his draft into the MLH would look like. He had, after all, had several years to imagine it. To plan for it. To prepare for it.
He was a good player, one of the best even, and rarely had he worried about not being a top draft pick.
Until Ilya had come along and changed everything.
Ilya had never been too worried about his draft. Of course his father, his family, was breathing down his neck, demanding he came out on top. But he was a good player, one of the best, even, and the competition was laughable. He had nothing to worry about.
Until Shane had come along and changed everything.
Suddenly, there was competition.
It made Shane want to become the first overall draft pick even more.
It turned Ilya almost playful, never turning down a competition, always ready to deliver.
However, meeting Shane Hollander, shaking his hand, awkwardly – twice – changed things for him. He still wanted to beat him, but whenever he was watching him play, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, for reasons that had nothing to do with his form.
Yuna Hollander made Shane watch, too. Made Shane study his opponents, his competition. This was what he was up against, and she wouldn’t let him lose.
She didn’t notice that the way Shane was staring at Ilya had little to do with his form, and everything with his cheeky smiles and playful chirps he couldn’t seem to be able to hold back.
The day of the draft turned out to be nothing like Shane had anticipated.
He had been so sure he would be the first pick, but that changed in an instant when Ilya came in first, snatched up by the Metros.
But, even more shockingly, all while Yuna was still trying to stay composed, Shane ended up being drafted to the Metros, too, through some calculated trades being made. It cost them, of course it did, and Shane immediately felt the weight of that on his shoulders, knowing what they had sacrificed to get him, too. Knowing that they expected him to bring home some wins for them.
He should be happy; his parents surely were, Montreal had always been their hope, but Shane couldn’t shake off the feeling of Ilya having beaten him. He wasn’t jealous, not really, but it still gnawed at him.
However, they were teammates now, and that did something else to Shane entirely. They gave each other a quick hug, mostly for the cameras, before parting ways again to talk to the most important people after the draft.
Yuna spotted Ilya, eventually. With his father, both looking tense, which felt odd, given that Ilya had just achieved what most players could only dream of.
“We should go talk to them. I’m sure it’s not easy, to be drafted to a foreign country without knowing anyone”, Yuna suggested. Any sense of rivalry melted away now that they would play on the same team.
Ilya was just as young as Shane was, after all, and she couldn’t keep the maternal instincts from kicking in.
The introductions went, well. Yuna wasn’t sure what she had expected, but Ilya’s father didn’t seem too interested in meeting his son’s teammates – or their parents.
Worst of all, he didn’t bother praising his son, his remarks actually making Yuna’s skin crawl, even though she politely smiled through it all.
She changed her approach then, turning to Ilya to offer him some warm words and congratulate him on being the first overall draft pick of the season.
“Do you already know where you will be living?” She asked, the question innocent enough, nothing too personal, nothing too trivial.
Ilya gave her a bit of a helpless shrug, then, appearing to struggle with finding the right words.
“Maybe with teammate. We will see.”
Of course Yuna knew that it wasn’t always easy for players from other countries to adjust, to feel at home.
At the same time, she had had the very same conversation with Shane before the draft. She had been all too aware that he would probably need to live with someone else, depending on who drafted him, and Shane had fought that idea for the longest time, until Yuna had told him that they would be getting him his own place, as long as it was affordable. There was no way they could force him to live with the family of one of the older players.
David could see the gears turning in real time, could see Yuna thinking about something for a moment, before speaking up again.
“We were thinking about getting Shane his own place. Just a small apartment, because he will likely still spend his weekends and days off back at home. We don’t live too far from Montreal”, she explained.
Shane was suddenly staring at her, hard. He wasn’t too sure if he was liking the direction that conversation was heading in.
“Maybe, if the boys don’t mind, they could live together. Would cut the expenses, too. And of course, Ilya would be more than welcome to stay with us during their days off. We have enough room for one more”, Yuna smiled, warm, welcoming, an offer that was meant to help Ilya feel less lost.
And maybe, maybe a suggestion to ensure her own son wouldn’t spend his rookie season isolated, hoping these two could face whatever was awaiting them together.
Ilya didn’t dare to speak up, didn’t dare to voice his opinion. Not with his father right next to him. His father, who, up until an hour ago, had seen Shane Hollander as an enemy.
“Oh, I would not want to burden you with my son”, Ilya’s father spoke for them, looking over to Ilya, just for a second.
Ilya, who was trying so hard to not look disappointed.
It was wrong. To want this. To even consider this. To allow himself, even just for a moment, to wish for a roommate who would understand. And worse, to wish for a family to take him in. Voluntarily, not because the league pressured them to do so.
He should know better than that. Should know better that these types of things only ever happened to other people, but never to him.
David had a harder time not letting his feelings show, but he did a good enough job when he gently objected.
“It wouldn’t be a burden. My wife is from Montreal; she knows her way around. And wouldn’t it be beneficial if they had each other throughout the whirlwind that is rookie season?”
Yuna nodded in agreement with her husband, “Think about it. No need to make such decisions today. Today is for celebrating. Here’s my card. Let me know if that’s something you would consider.”
Ilya’s father nodded, a friendly but distanced smile, signalling politeness without much genuineness.
“And Ilya? It was nice to see you again. I am sure we will be seeing each other a lot more now” Yuna’s smile, in contrast, was genuine, and made something twist in Ilya’s stomach. Something he couldn’t allow himself to feel, because he had learned a long time ago that hoping for anything would only end up hurting him in the long run.
Ilya watched the Hollanders leave, his eyes softer now, sadder perhaps.
He didn’t dwell on it for too long; his father demanding his attention again moments later, no reprieve in sight until they were heading to their separate hotel rooms for the night.
Shane couldn’t sleep. Not after everything. Not after not making first draft pick. Not after the trades. And most definitely not after his mother had walked up to Ilya fucking Rozanov and had suggested they should be roommates.
There was a reason Shane didn’t want to board with anyone – he valued his space. His privacy. The quiet.
Ilya was anything but. Ilya was cocky and loud and entirely too confident.
Ilya was all these things, and Shane still couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like, to live together.
Fuck it, he thought, leaving his hotel room again to head to the gym. Maybe it would help him focus on something else, anything else. Anything but Ilya Rozanov and his smile when he knew he had just won something.
Ilya couldn’t sleep, either. He should be happy, satisfied. He was the first overall draft pick, the very thing his father had expected of him. It still hadn’t been enough. It never was.
It made the day taste sour, made his victory feel like failure somehow.
And then there had been Shane’s parents, suggesting, offering that he could live with their son. Could come into their home. Two strangers who barely even knew him outside of the rink.
Under any other circumstances, he would have suspected foul play. But he and Shane were playing for the same team now, and they had no reason to plot against him.
Still, he didn’t want to allow himself to think about it, not when his father had been less than thrilled after the offer had been extended.
Ilya headed to the gym then, in hopes of forcing these thoughts and feelings out of his system, because what else was there to do, in a city he barely even knew.
He didn’t expect to find Shane there, of all people, and from the looks of it, Shane was feeling the same way when he finally noticed Ilya on the stationary bike next to him.
They didn’t talk, not at first. Not even after ten minutes, or fifteen.
They didn’t talk when they got off their bikes, sweating, exhausted.
Ilya offered his bottle of water, wordlessly, watching Shane take a sip, then another one. He studied him, hoping to find some kind of answer on his face.
His stupid face, with the stupid freckles.
“So, your mother,” Ilya was the one to finally break the silence. Still not believing that it might actually be a possibility, but he needed to know how Shane felt about it. Selfishly wishing that he might want this, too.
Shane looked at Ilya for a long moment. Never quite meeting his eyes, but studying his face anyway, as if to gauge how much he could give away.
“She gets these ideas a lot.”
Shane didn’t want Ilya to think that this was somehow exceptional.
“Mhh,” Ilya hummed, not feeling pressed to fill the silence any further, both of them still catching their breaths.
“You can just tell her no,” Shane finally elaborated, but then, looking at the bottle still in his hand, “or not. I guess she has a point. Rookie season is kinda rough, and we won’t have much time outside of practice and games anyway.”
He tried to sound nonchalant, but his heart was hammering against his ribs, and he hoped he could write it off as the aftermath of their bike race.
“You ok with roommate?” Ilya asked, not sure if he wanted an honest answer to that.
Shane shrugged, avoiding eye contact, “Didn’t plan for one. But as long as you don’t throw parties or leave your dirty laundry everywhere.”
That was casual enough, right? Shane was sure that he had gotten away with it.
Ilya couldn’t help but smile, almost amused, but somehow, inexplicably, not in a way that hurt Shane’s feelings. In fact, Shane couldn’t look away, couldn’t help the slight blush creep in, quickly handing the bottle back to Ilya to cover up how much this was affecting him.
Ilya took it back, then stood up. He held out his hand for Shane to take, to pull himself up as well.
He smiled, then, once again, somewhere between amusement and something softer.
“No dirty laundry,” he echoed, accent thick, smile not once leaving his lips.
Shane nodded, unable to do anything else, while Ilya was still looking at him like that.
“Maybe,” Ilya said then, “maybe. See you soon, Hollander.”
And with that, Ilya was gone again, leaving Shane behind in a more confused state than he had been in before he had entered that damn gym for distraction.