Chapter Text
“Hollander, get over here!” Shane stopped and sighed in disappointment. He was only two stairs away from the second floor. So close to being able to sneak into his room. Since he had moved into the frat house his routine was constantly interrupted. Shane never saw himself joining a frat but most of the hockey team was in it so he had joined. He didn’t want to stand out.
The house was too messy and loud but he had almost been able to adjust to it... until Ilya Rozanov arrived at the start of junior year. Ilya said he transferred to the University of Michigan because it was the top hockey school in the US. Shane was starting to think Ilya had transferred here just to torture him.
“Hollander!” Ilya yelled again. Shane stomped back down the stairs and into the living room. The house had once been a beautiful colonial but now was worn down from years of mistreatment. The old wood floor was scuffed and permanently sticky. The brick around the fireplace, that would no longer turn on, was chipped. The drywall was bumpy and discolored from years of bad patching.
Today all of the furniture was pushed against the wall to make room for a big grey folding table littered with red solo cups. Four men stood on one side of the table and three men on the other side. Their eyes were slightly unfocused and they reeked of cheap beer.
Except Ilya. As always, Ilya’s eyes were sharp, his face was curled into a smirk and he smelled warm and musky. Ilya’s scent always seemed to surround Shane in every room they shared, ever present but not overpowering.
“What now Rozanov?” Shane asked irritably. Ilya’s eyes lit up, already enjoying Shane’s annoyance. Ilya walked up and threw his arm around Shane. Shane felt his skin burning at the contact and he shifted uncomfortably. This didn’t stop Ilya from getting closer. So close that the brim of Ilya’s hat almost touched Shane’s forehead.
Shane tried to keep his eyes on the curls poking out from under Ilya’s hat and off his hazel eyes. “Numbers are not right, Hollander,” Ilya said like that explained everything. Ilya’s accent was thicker than normal, the only sign pointing to the fact that Ilya was getting drunk. “What does that mean?” Shane asked. “Teams are uneven. We need another player,” Cliff translated. Cliff, as Ilya’s closest friend in the house, was always translating for him. “Yes I say this already,” Ilya scowled.
“Maybe say it in English next time,” Kent said from across the table. Ilya shot a dirty look Kent’s way. “American people always jealous when someone speaks another language,” Ilya said with fake sympathy.
“I am not,” Kent seethed. “Il me semble jaloux,” Shane commented. He seems jealous to me. “Au moins, Ilya apprendra l'anglais à temps. Kent est d'ici et il le comprend à peine,” JJ added from the other side of the table. At least Ilya will learn English in time. Kent is from here and he barely understands it.
Shane and JJ snickered and Kent’s face tightened so hard Shane thought Kent might break a tooth. “Ready to play?” Ilya asked, getting back to the subject at hand.
“It’s a Thursday," Shane answered. “Oh no, captain is going to give us a talking to,” Ilya said with a dramatic sigh. “No I’m not,” Shane defended even though the speech was already running through his mind. Ilya waited with raised eyebrows. “We have practice tomorrow. Can’t you do this during the weekend?” Shane blurted out, unable to help himself.
“There it is,” Ilya said to a smattering of chuckles. “You boys heard the captain. We will drink today and then during the weekend,” Ilya shouted. Everyone started excitedly setting up the table.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Shane complained. Ilya shrugged against Shane’s side. “I’m not drinking,” Shane declared. “I will drink for you,” Ilya said, tightening his grip around Shane. Shane tried to dig his heels in but Ilya pushed him forward until he was in front of the table. Shane couldn’t believe Ilya could move him that easily.
“You flip cup before,” Ilya asked. “Yes on the weekends,” Shane answered. “Hollander, Friday classes do not count,” Ilya said exasperated. Shane was shaking his head emphatically. “That is so not true,” Shane said.
“I drink for you,” Ilya said with finality. Shane finally lifted his eyes to look at Ilya. Despite Ilya’s rude and pushy tone, Ilya’s eyes were wide and hopeful. Shane couldn’t say no to those pathetic puppy dog eyes. “Fine,” Shane relented. Ilya moved his head forward so that the brim of his hat knocked playfully into Shane’s forehead.
Shane put up his hand to wave Ilya off but Ilya was already stepping back. Ilya’s arm dropped from around Shane’s shoulder now that he was satisfied Shane wouldn’t be running away. Shane felt a weird feeling when the touch was gone. Normally people getting close made him uncomfortable but now his skin felt oddly cold from having the contact ripped away.
They started playing not long after that. Ilya would chug Shane’s cup and then cheer Shane on with surprising enthusiasm during Shane’s turns. It was loud and it was sticky but it wasn’t as bad as Shane expected. Ilya insisted on keeping track of the score despite the low stakes of the game. Ilya would turn to him after every round. “Now is…” Ilya would trail off and then Shane would let him know the score. Ilya would repeat it louder to everyone as if he had been keeping track.
Everyone’s movements got sloppier the longer they went on. They were accidentally knocking into each other or the cups. Their volume also increased as the night went on. Shane started to notice Ilya rolling the r on Hollander and slipping more Russian words into his cheers. They finished another round and Ilya looked at Shane expectantly. “It’s 6 to 4,” Shane said. “Not fair! Shane is sober,” someone huffed angrily from the other side of the table. “We play again,” Ilya said enthusiastically. Everyone cheered in agreement except Shane.
“No way. You are way too drunk,” Shane said, crossing his arms. There was a round of boos from the table. Normally Shane might cave but looking at Ilya’s unfocused eyes sharpened his resolve. “Russians…no…p'yanyy. YA umeyu igrat',” Ilya slurred. Russians…no…drunk. I can play.
“That was all in Russian,” Shane said. Ilya waved a dismissive hand around sloppily. “I’m not going to play anymore,” Shane said. “Numbers…” Ilya whined back. “Then you can stop too and the teams will be even again,” Shane explained. Ilya looked at him suspiciously like he trusted the math but hated the solution.
“Always bickering like an old married couple,” JJ chuckled. “Except they’re not f******,” Kent barked. The word hung in the air. A few of the boys shifted around in uncomfortable shock, a few of them laughed. Shane felt rage burning in his chest. Before he could do or say anything Ilya jumped into motion. Ilya’s hand smacked against the stray cups on the table. They were sent flying towards Kent, spraying him with leftover beer.
A plastic cup knocked into Kent’s head and bounced off harmlessly. Then Ilya launched himself forward. There was a blur of motion and then in no time Kent was pinned to the ground. Ilya curled his hand into a fist and landed one satisfying blow with a loud thunk. That wasn't quite as harmless. Ilya was screaming something, “Melkomyslyashchiy idiot. Skazhi eto yeshcho raz. Poprobuy!” Small minded idiot. Say that again. I dare you! Kent in his drunk state could barely get a hand up before Ilya was hitting him again.
Everyone there had enough muscle memory from being on the ice. When there is a fight you go into action immediately. You either help break it up or you help fight. Ilya seemed to have it so well in hand that everyone decided to break it up. Shane grabbed one of Ilya’s wound up arms while Cliff grabbed the other. It wasn’t enough punishment for Kent but it was more than nothing.
Plus this would all have to be explained to their coach tomorrow. Shane knew he shouldn’t but he admired Ilya for taking action. Shane could never do anything like that. Especially as the only Asian kid on the team. It's bad to draw that kind of attention to yourself. Ilya had the luxury of fighting. It was almost his personal brand.
“Dayte-ka ya yego yeshcho raz udaryu!” Ilya pleaded as they dragged him away. Let me hit him again! They ignored Ilya’s shouting and kept carrying him until they reached the stairs. Ilya thrashed so hard he almost broke out of their grips. Ilya suddenly lost his fight when they reached the first step. "Okay," Ilya snapped, telling them that he was done fighting back.
Shane and Cliff tentatively let go of Ilya’s arms. Ilya opened his mouth like he wanted to argue but Shane interrupted. “Upstairs,” Shane commanded. Ilya started wobbling up the stairs muttering to himself. Shane watched Ilya make it all the way up the stairs and then heard the sound of Ilya’s door slamming shut. “Think he’s okay?” Shane asked Cliff. He thought Cliff might look concerned but Cliff just shrugged, “He got the honor of hitting Kent first. He’ll be fine.” Cliff gave a half reassuring smile and then walked back to the commotion in the living room.
Shane could hear Kent yelling something about how his dad was a lawyer and he tried not to roll his eyes. Kent was always throwing around insults and the second he got punched he wanted to cry to his daddy. It wasn’t surprising, the worst guys in hockey were always like this. Shane walked past Kent having his breakdown to get to the kitchen. Shane sorted through the fridge until he found a stray water bottle tucked in the door. Shane grabbed it and made his way upstairs.
Shane walked up to Ilya’s door cautiously. He reached a first out towards the wood and paused. Ilya had knocked on his door plenty of times. Always with some stupid request for pencils, scantrons or even clean socks when it was almost time for practice. Shane hadn’t knocked on Ilya’s door before, he had no reason to. Shane guessed he could have just knocked to say hello but they weren’t exactly friends. Shane knocked lightly on the door three times. “What?” Ilya asked.
Shane went in and closed the door quickly. He didn’t want Ilya to hear all of the screaming going on downstairs. Shane was looking at Ilya’s shirt crumpled on the ground. He looked up and saw Ilya wearing only his jeans and shoes. Shane looked away quickly. “Just came to give you this,” Shane said, holding out the water bottle for Ilya. Ilya sauntered over and grabbed the bottle out of Shane’s hands. Ilya turned it around like he was inspecting it. “Its just water,” Shane said.
Ilya gave him a side eye. Shane could practically hear Ilya’s thoughts without him saying it. ‘Yes I have seen water before Hollander’ Shane would be hearing - if Ilya had been coherent enough to fight back. Ilya took a few sips and then looked like he was swaying a bit. “You should sit down,” Shane said. Ilya threw himself on the bed. “Come for…lektsiya?” Ilya asked. Come for lecture? “You know I still don’t speak Russian, right?” Shane asked. Ilya glared madly at Shane like this was new information.
“Why?” Ilya asked angrily like a petulant child. Shane tried to keep himself from laughing. “You are the first person I’ve met who speaks Russian. Who would have taught me it?” Shane argued. Ilya huffed like the explanation was not good enough. Like Shane should have anticipated his transfer and learned Russian just for Ilya’s convenience.
“Why don’t you speak French?” Shane asked. “French,” Ilya mumbled dismissively. “Its easier to learn than Russian and then I could actually understand you when you’re drunk or when you yell things at me during practice.” Ilya chuckled to himself, no doubt thinking of all the things he had gotten away with saying during practice since no one else understood him.
Then Ilya looked at Shane seriously again. “No. Russian,” Ilya said, pointing at Shane. Maybe he could look up a few phrases. Things to yell back at Ilya to surprise him during practice. He could say 'good luck next time' in Russian when he did better at Ilya during drills. That would drive Ilya crazy, Shane thought happily. He could always look up something nice. It would be the right thing to do as a captain. Maybe he could practice ‘good job’ or ‘good game’. Shane filed these ideas away for later. “Okay,” Shane said. Ilya finally seemed pacified.
Ilya was leaning his head back and his eyes were fluttering closed. “Stop,” Shane said firmly. Ilya’s eyes snapped back open. “Drink more,” Shane instructed, handing the water bottle to Ilya again. Ilya took it obediently and started chugging. Ilya finished the water bottle and then held it up in Shane’s face. Shane took it and set it on the bedside table. “Shoes,” Ilya whined at Shane and then started wiggling his feet. “So I’m your maid now?” Shane asked. Ilya just giggled in response.
Shane sat on the edge of the bed by Ilya’s feet. Trying not to think about how weird the situation was. He started untying Ilya’s shoe laces. Then he slipped the shoe off, retied the laces so that Ilya wouldn’t trip on them and set them on the ground. Ilya watched him through half closed eyes. When both were done Ilya sighed in relief. “Pants?” Ilya asked with a lazy grin.
“Very funny," Shane gulped and then he jumped off the bed. "I’ll be right back,” Shane said, quickly grabbing the water bottle and heading into the hallway. Shane walked into the bathroom and filled the water bottle up again at the sink. Ilya was going to wake up hungover tomorrow anyways but the more water Shane could get him to drink the easier it would be. Just so that Ilya didn’t get into more trouble at practice Shane told himself. Shane also grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cool water. He wrung it out a bit so it wouldn’t drip and then walked back into the hallway.
Shane made another stop at his own room. He pulled a small first aid kit out of the bottom drawer of his desk. His parents had given him a half dozen of them when he went to college. He told them it was overkill at the time but now he was glad for them. There was one shoved in his away game bag, in his locker, in his car, his gym bag... They had all come in handy at some point. He tucked it under his arm and finally he was ready to return to Ilya’s room.
Ilya had taken his pants off while Shane was gone and was left wearing dark blue boxers. Shane tried looking anywhere else in the room. Ilya’s room was neater and emptier than he expected. Ilya’s backpack was under his desk, his textbooks were stacked in a next line against the wall and two small pictures were tacked to the wall. One of an older woman and one of Ilya and a young woman on a night out. Was that his sister? Did Ilya have siblings? Maybe a friend? Surely it couldn’t be Ilya’s girlfriend. Ilya got around too much to be dating someone.
Shane’s eyes slid back to Ilya and then they couldn’t move. Ilya’s eyes were closed and his breathing was deeper. Ilya looked so…vulnerable, Shane thought in surprise. He never would have associated that word with Ilya but here he saw it was true. “I’m going to clean your hands up,” Shane whispered to Ilya despite him being asleep. It made Shane feel better to say, just in case. Shane sat down on the side of the bed again but closer to Ilya’s waist.
Shane laid out everything on the bedside table and then gently picked up Ilya’s hands. He wiped away the blood on Ilya’s knuckles slowly. He kept describing everything he was doing to Ilya while he worked. It helped keep his mind on the task in front of him and his eyes from wandering. “I’m getting the last bit now and then I need to use the alcohol wipe,” Shane whispered. Shane tore open the package and wiped across Ilya’s knuckles. Ilya shifted around some but didn’t seem to wake up.
“I’m going to bandage your hands now,” Shane whispered, wrapping gauze pads with tape. Firm enough so they wouldn’t fall off but light enough to allow air in. “I’m done now,” Shane whispered. Shane sat there quietly for a minute not moving. He was done, he should go. He knew that. Still he stayed. It was like he was stuck there unable to let the moment go. Even when Ilya was asleep he still tortured Shane.
Finally Shane stood up. Ilya was still lying on his back. Shane leaned over the bed and slid a hand under Ilya’s back. When his whole palm was pressed firmly against Ilya’s skin Shane leaned back. The leverage turned Ilya onto his side. Ilya shifted around and for a second his eyes cracked open with confusion. “You can choke while sleeping on your back. You need to sleep on your side, Ilya,” Shane said. “Ilya,” Ilya dreamily repeated back.
Shane’s heart started pounding and his hand started shaking. When Ilya was positioned Shane pulled his hand back sheepishly. Shane pulled up a spare blanket from the end of the bed and draped it over Ilya. When he got it above Ilya’s shoulders Ilya’s hand shot out and held onto Shane’s. “Shane…warm,” Ilya mumbled. Then Ilya’s hand dropped.
Shane scrambled out of the room. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. This was normal. It was fine. Ilya was just saying Shane was there, the bed was warm. So why did Shane want to go back in there and let Ilya mumble his name over and over again until he could never forget the sound. Shane rushed back to his own room.
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If Shane was being honest he spent most days thinking about Ilya. When would Ilya stop by to borrow something stupid, what he would say when he beat Ilya in a drill at practice, what would Ilya say to him when Ilya outbenched him at the gym, what time could he come home to avoid Ilya drinking with the fraternity brothers in the living room. Normally those thoughts only popped up when his mind wandered. Today he couldn’t stop thinking about Ilya.
Shane suffered through a long and boring business class. He didn’t have much of an interest in business but this was the major most NHL prospects ended up in. Vague enough to be useful if they never got drafted, relevant enough to be helpful if you did get drafted. Well, theoretically relevant. It could help you when it came to managing a team or understanding contract negotiations but that's what Shane had his mom for. They had never officially discussed it but Shane’s mom was already essentially his business manager.
When that class was over he walked over to his accounting class. He sat in the back twisting his pencil around in his hand the whole time. What was Ilya doing now? Did Ilya feel well? Did Ilya care that Shane was in his room, bandaging his hands? Hayden kicked him under the table. Shane looked over and raised an eyebrow. Hayden pointed his computer at Shane. There was a word document open. The top half was notes and the bottom half was large text reading “What is wrong with you?” Shane furrowed his eyebrows like he didn’t understand the question. Hayden backspaced and then wrote “Fidgeting like crazy”.
Hayden left the laptop between them. Shane leaned forward and erased Hayden’s note. Then Shane typed “Ready for practice.” Hayden narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything else. Shane moved his hands under the table so he could keep twisting his pencil unnoticed. When the class was finally over Shane let out a sigh of relief. “You just need to find a nice girl. Then you won’t be so pent up all the time,” Hayden said throwing his things into his backpack.
“Hayd why are you so worried about how pent up I may or may not be?” Shane asked, raising an eyebrow. They threw their backpacks on and started walking out the door. “You’re so tense I’m worried you’re going to snap and then the season will be ruined before it starts,” Hyaden said. “So you’re monitoring my sex life for the team?” Shane asked. “Somebody has to,” Hayden said dramatically, like an action hero. Shane pushed Hayden playfully. “I just feel so much better now that I have Jackie. I want that for you too,” Hayden said earnestly as they walked together again.
“Thanks man,” Shane said. Jackie and Hayden were sickeningly in love. Shane did want something like that…eventually. He had dated a few girls, unseriously and unsuccessfully. He got approached all the time at parties but it was never right. The more years passed the harder it felt to tell himself that he was just picky. Especially when he seemed to notice attractive men everywhere. But he didn’t want to put too much thought into that. He didn’t want to be defined by anything other than his hockey skill and if that meant waiting to sort his life out, so be it.
Hayden tried changing the subject. “I heard there was a brawl last night,” Hayden exclaimed, happily changing the subject to the only other thing Shane didn’t want to talk about. “Wasn’t much of a fight,” Shane said, fiddling with the loose strap on his backpack. “Were you there when it happened?” Hayden asked. “Yes,” Shane said without adding any detail.
“And?” Hayden asked.
“And what?”
“What happened?”
“Kent deserved it,” Shane said, shrugging. “Obviously. It's Kent,” Hayden joked. That got a small smile out of Shane. It took them a few more minutes to reach the house. “I forget you live here,” Shane commented as they walked inside. “Jackie’s place is so much nicer,” Hayden said wistfully. Shane could smell someone in the kitchen burning food and the TV in the living room was playing on full volume.
“Do you think Jackie needs a roommate?” Shane asked. “She already has one and I get first dibs on being her next roommate,” Hayden said. Shane sighed in response. They went their separate ways to get ready. Shane looked at Ilya’s door as he walked by. It was still closed, same as when he left this morning.
It only took Shane a few minutes to get ready. He usually wore athletic clothes so he barely had to adjust anything. When he was ready he left his door open. He sat at his desk and laid some homework out in front of him. Instead of working he just listened for the sound of Ilya’s door opening.
Instead he just heard footsteps and then Hayden plopping onto the chair in the corner of his room. “Great, you're working on accounting. I was looking over number 3 on the homework…” Hayden said. Shane did his best to pay attention and help Hayden but he wasn’t doing a very good job. Shane was jotting down notes when he heard a door squeak. He turned around and Ilya was leaning against the doorway.
Ilya’s hands were still in the bandages Shane had done. “Hello. I…” Ilya started softly when Hayden interrupted, “You look like death.” Ilya's eyes darted to the side like he just noticed Hayden sitting in the corner. Ilya’s stood up straighter and his tone sharpened. “Just from alcohol. Normally I am beautiful. What is your excuse Pike?”
“I’m the only one of us with a girlfriend,” Hayden scoffed.
“Why do pretty American girls settle?” Ilya asked sadly.
Hayden’s face was flushed with anger. “Don’t talk about Jackie that way.”
“I cannot say she is pretty?” Ilya asked innocently.
“Yes. I mean no. Just stay away from her!” Hayden scrambled.
“Scared she sees real hockey player and changes her mind?” Ilya taunted. Hayden jumped up. Ilya didn’t move but started smiling. It was time for Shane to step in. “Rozanov stop. One fight this week is enough,” Shane said.
“He started it,” Ilya said, jerking his head in Hayden’s direction. “Did not!” Hayden shouted back. “Hayd, don’t let him get a rise out of you,” Shane said. Hayden reluctantly sat back down but mumbled, “You’re such an asshole.”
Ilya leaned against the doorframe again, “Not my fault. Hollander made me drink.” Shane’s jaw clenched. So he was Hollander again. Shane should've felt happy that things were back to normal but it felt bittersweet. “I didn’t make you drink Rozanov. I said I didn’t want to play,” Shane said.
Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose, “Whatever. I need water.” Then Ilya sauntered in and grabbed the light blue metal water bottle from Shane’s desk. “Ah yes,” Ilya said, satisfied and then sauntered back out of the room with the bottle.
“Rozanov, wait,” Shane called. Shane grabbed one of the spare emergency kits from his desk and rushed into the hallway. Ilya was waiting for him. “Here are some more bandages for your hand. In case you don’t have any,” Shane said shoving the container into Ilya’s arms before Ilya tried to say no.
“So Hollander playing nurse was not a dream?” Ilya asked.
“I wasn’t playing nurse just…being a good captain,” Shane said, his face flushing.
“You take off Pike’s pants and give him band-aid?” Ilya mocked.
“Fuck off, no! I mean…I didn’t take your pants off asshole,” Shane stuttered.
“Shame,” Ilya said with a frown and walked away.
Shane walked back into his room confused. It was a shame? Ilya was probably messing with him. Shane could hear it now - Ilya's cocky voice saying, ‘Shame you didn’t get to see what makes so many girls scream my name through the walls.’
“You didn’t get your water bottle back,” Hayden pointed out when Shane entered the room. “Oh, I forgot I guess.”
They studied until it was time to go to practice. In the locker room Shane saw Ilya carrying his water bottle. Ilya lifted his head to take a sip then his eyes cut to Shane. He could’ve sworn Ilya winked.
“Hollander, over here!” His coach shouted from the doorway. Shane already knew what was coming. “Whats this I’m hearing about Rozanov fighting?” His coach asked before Shane had a chance to sit down. Shane was sure his coach had already heard details. Shane held his hands behind his back, “Well sir, its true.”
His coach scowled, “And you were there for this?” As if Shane could use telepathic captain powers to freeze his teammates before they started breaking rules. “Yes sir,” Shane said curtly. His coach grumbled clearly trying to think of the perfect number of laps that would put an end to all insubordination. “Thanks for being honest Shane,” his coach said finally.
Shane was about to leave but then he stopped. “If I’m being honest sir, I don’t think Rozanov should be punished. If you want to punish someone, punish me. I was there and I heard what Kent said and because of that I didn't stop my teammates from fighting,” Shane blurted out.
“You and Rozanov will do extra laps and sit out during games today,” His coach said after a few moments of silence. That wasn't so bad. At least Shane still got to be on the ice.
Shane nodded and went back to the locker room. “Rozanov, get in here!” He heard his coach yell from behind him. Ilya had been sitting on the bench waiting for this. He walked over cooly and avoided looking at Shane.
A little while later practice started. Shane and Ilya skated their laps while everyone else did drills. They kept their heads down trying to give their coach the impression that the punishment was working. “Why did you say that?” Ilya asked after a while. “Say what?” Shane asked, startled.
“Coach said - Hollander wants to take fall,” Ilya said, looking at him sharply. “I just told him the truth. I could have stopped you from punching Kent and I didn’t. You were just doing what was right,” Shane shrugged.
“Ughhh,” Ilya groaned, throwing his head back.
“What?” Shane asked defensively.
“Typical Canadian. So nice,” Ilya said like he was disappointed.
“Fuck off. So now you have a problem with me being nice?” Shane asked.
“Don’t worry,” Ilya said.
“Worry about what?” Shane asked.
“Since you are too nice, during season I will hit people for both of us,” Ilya smiled.
“Please don’t start punching people and saying it's because of me,” Shane pleaded.
“Other American teams will hate us,” Ilya said excitedly before speeding up.