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The nightmare started with a silly post practice interview. Shane Hollander, valiant hockey captain, notorious good boy, part time underwear model, got exposed for living under a rock on a random Tuesday. He personally blames the extra blueberries he put in his morning protein shake. That’s what happens when you mess with perfection.
“What is your favorite Ilya song, boys?”
Just like that, the world found out Shane doesn’t have a favorite Ilya song because he doesn’t know who that is.
In hindsight he would invent a time machine and fake an injury to get out of practice, he is not above giving himself an actual injury to avoid what comes next. To hell with science, he would make a deal with the devil to skip what comes next.
His confused face went viral on each and every social media platform. He became tiktok famous. He turned into a meme. A new Urban Dictionary entry was born with his name on it. A Wikipedia page was dedicated to all the cornerstones of pop culture he failed to recognize. There were play by play gifs of his life flashing before his eyes. Musical recommendations were shouted at him from many random strangers. His high school year book somehow entered the conversation. He was labeled as a boring hater/uneducated jock/disgrace to his family line. He got disowned by the queer community (and the Pike girls). The Rozlings came for his neck. His status as a random hockey player you might have seen on a billboard turned into a global sensation overnight; in a “wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy” kind of way. That was not the impending, contained, and controlled cancellation he was supposed to get. Shane Hollander™️ was beige and boring. He worked hard to get there; he took many deep breaths, expressed the personality of a cardboard box, and smiled at hockey puns. He had, by all means, earned the right to get canceled over eating plain oatmeal on his cheat days and be done with it.
By the time they won the cup, he just wanted to crawl back under his rock and disappear in white noise heaven. He was so overstimulated he wanted to sit in a silent corner and watch paint dry on a completely insignificant wall, preferably in his cottage.
But fate, going by the mortal name of Rose Landry had other plans.
“Ilya is a good friend and a god among men. I can’t sleep at night knowing you are sleeping on that man. You are coming with me to see him perform, and heaven help me if I see any athletic wear. You are not looking more like an idiot. Plus we’ll get to meet up and have fun after ages.” Even Shane had enough common sense not to argue with that.
***
His month of rest and relaxation is nothing but a distant daydream as he finds himself wearing a scratchy outfit too cool for his none-existent sense of fashion, standing in a VIP tent, feeling like a small fish in a sea of rainbow sequins. Looking at the dedicated crowd of 60000 people of all ages, wearing elaborate hand made customs and exchanging friendship bracelets, he thanks his lucky stars that he hasn’t been murdered and crucified in a dark alley as an example. This man has enough power to conquer a not so small piece of land. Ilya Rozanov’s army would survive many winters if he demands. He is reluctantly impressed even before the show begins.
His jaw has signed a permanent lease on the floor halfway through the show. He can clearly see what everyone has been preaching about the past few months. Ilya Rozanov is, in fact, a god among men. He has the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. He sings with the stamina of an Olympic champion and emotes with the passion of a seasoned Broadway actor. He laughs and he cries and makes Shane believe in magic for the first time since he was five. Ilya is lightning in a bottle, striking poor, clueless souls like the hands of god. One moment he’s creating a cinematic scene worthy of the silver screen, then he’s sitting behind a piano, making a stadium show feel like an intimate small gathering between friends you lost when you were seventeen. Shane feels the crowd make the ground shake beneath his feet, and he knows he will carry this experience for the rest of his life.
He barely gets out of his daze when they arrive at the after party celebrating the last night in a successful string of sold out shows. He has vague memories of being pulled into a car by Rose and moving through busy streets, but some part of him is still watching Ilya take his final bows, chest heaving with exertion, smiling wide, eyes shining with happy tears, taking in the crowd with reverence.
It doesn’t take long for him to lose his group; the tried and true combination of not drinking alcohol and being an introvert earns him a quiet corner and an invisible barrier, keeping the merry partygoers at a safe distance.
He is justified to jump a bit when his date with a glass of water is interrupted by a stranger sitting at his table. Ilya fucking Rozanov in the flesh. Shane is a starstruck teenager who doesn’t know what a word is supposed to do to get out of a (very dry) mouth. Thank god that this unfairly beautiful man is happy to start a conversation and keep going on for the minute it takes Shane’s brain to come back online.
“Sorry to bother you. I probably shouldn’t have sit here without asking. I’m just wiped out. My feet hurts and I’m getting a bit dizzy being passed around my drunk idiotic friends like a blunt. A very burnt out blunt to be fair. And now I’m rambling at you without even saying Hi. I would be more embarrassed if my brain wasn’t working overtime. Привет (hello).”
“Uh... Hi?...” Ilya Rozanov has constellations in his eyes, and it’s making Shane Hollander forget how to breathe. He has an accent off stage. It’s so charming Shane wants to cry. He’s seen his fair share of attractive men, but this one is coming from a different galaxy. His smile is so genuine and disarming, Shane is glad he’s already sitting down. He had a brain in there somewhere that he can’t seem to find. But it’s fine. He’s fine. Just let him sit here and watch this disheveled, pretty man smile with tired, glittering eyes.
“So you finally found out who I am?” Shane is so mortified he considers crawling under the table and not coming out until they close the bar.
“Oh god ... you know about that... I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was completely unintentional. Nothing personal, I’m not really a music fan. I swear I don’t know anyone. I’m making it worse. Fuck!” He’s blushing so much he’s gonna burst into flames. A win-win situation for everyone at this point if you ask him.
“Huh! You really had no idea who I was.” He looks too amused for Shane’s peace of mind, there’s nothing good behind that mesmerizing smile. Chaos is dancing in his starlit eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m apparently living under a rock. Rose says I have hockey brain rot.”
“You are fine Shane Hollander. I’m not mad. I didn’t know you either, so we’re even.” The turn of his mouth is kind. Shane is so fucked.
“I’m not an international pop star.”
“And I’m thankful for that. Your freckles are serious competition Hollander, I’m stressed out enough as it is without trying to outdo all this.” Is the Greek God flirting with him? Shane is very scared. “I like it. It’s refreshing to be more than a Wikipedia page once in a while. I guess that ship is sailing or sinking or whatever by now.”
“So... is it a good time to confess I still don’t know you very well? Mass outrage and public humiliation kinda kept me out of jumping down that particular rabbit hole.” Rozanov is looking at him with the kind of elation that’s reserved for small children and cute animals. Shane must be losing his mind.
“You are fascinating. And sober.”
“I’m not much of a drinker. I don’t like the way it effects my performance.” Shane braces for impact, ready to take the usual insult like a champ and make jokes at his own expense.
“Me neither. I bet you’re having a better time of it than me by a landslide. I’m so envious of your stupid athletic ways, I’m turning grey, green, or was it purple? ” Something deeper flickers on Ilya’s face, but it’s gone before Shane has a chance to understand. Attractive pop stars are not supposed to admire his routine. Shane is double fucked.
“Green. And I’m not fooled by the pretty facade. It takes a lot of strength and stamina to put on a show like that. I would be dead within the first week, and I play a very physically demanding sport as my day job.” Does he look... shy?
“I’m not that impressive, it’s the polite and Candian in you speaking.” Is he seriously downplaying the impossible, Herculean task he’s been doing for months?
“Let’s get out of here. I want a shitty burger, a look inside your brain, and to watch you blush some more. I performed a three hour show for six nights. I have more pain than muscle mass. My bones are going to sue me for committing hate crimes. I deserve nice things.”
Shane’s heart, the traitorous spy, is leaping out of his chest to wrap around an elegant pinkie. His backbone is fleeing like a coward at the sight of gold glittery nail polish.
“Yes you do. I’m adding a milkshake and the special fries.”
Can I, by any chance, get you the moon too, while we are at it? Just a small gift to remember me by.
***
Turns out getting out by Ilya Rozanov’s standards is a whole different story. This is not what Shane pictured when he texted a quick goodbye to Rose.
“When you said let’s bail, I imagined more walking around the block and less bulletproof SUVs.”
“I can say it’s not all so crazy but that’s such a lie. Younger me would be so disappointed.” Sadness fits him like an old ugly sweater, too comfortable to throw away now. “After enough shit even the big Russian bad boy learns to hide from the knives. I’m sorry to put you here.”
He is bold and beautiful and brighter than the sun. He doesn’t deserve clouds.
“Hey, none of that. I’m still glad to be here. Greasy food and gun threats included. Objectively, I’m the undereducated heathen in your community, it’s your reputation on the line.”
Shane doesn’t think about all the things he’s willing to do for another glimpse of that faint smile.
“Sweet summer child, I’ve fallen so far from grace around here, you can’t possibly go any lower. You should really Google shameful pop stars before you offer to buy them fries at midnight. They are making break up edits over the songs I wrote about ... “ He shakes his head and comes back from whatever place he was going. “It doesn’t matter; who gives a fuck about stage names?”
“I know what they say about me, about the cold and senseless, mechanical beast that I am on the ice. The girls I don’t date, the parties I avoid and my one-track mind. I’ll just take Mr. Sunshine at his words, thank you very much.”
Nothing in their brief interaction warrants this level of honesty. Shane can’t, for the life of him, find the energy to hide. There has been a court meeting with every version of him inside. Nobody asked for his input before making the final call. They all (from the tentative, small child to the giddy, hopeful adult) want to keep this man for a little while.
***
They find in an empty, small not-so-promising diner. Terrible food and the bodyguards at the door quickly forgotten. Ilya’s golden halo of curls is doing cartwheels over the ashes of Shane’s self prevention. The sound of his laugh is holding Shane hostage with a plastic gun.
They’re discussing the wonders of velvet emerald green throw pillows when the permanent wince on Ilya’s face breaks Shane.
“You’re exhausted and in a lot of pain.”
“There are heels involved in my job, Hollander. Of course I’m in pain.”
Shane hates the way he understands the wear and tear of pushing your body beyond imagination and waking up the next morning to do some more.
“ You shouldn’t sit here and suffer. Some painkillers and physio will do you good.”
“No painkillers for me, big medical English words I will never remember. The thought of cold, clinical touch is ... too much at the moment. And I’ve finished my allowance of cigarettes for the day. Not much to do beyond a salt bath.”
Shane’s heartbreak must be slipping through the cracks.
“Oh no, don’t look like that лучик(sunbeam). I made my mistakes and took too many wrong turns, now I get to stay awake in the bed I broke. It doesn’t even hurt that bad.”
Shane doubts that. This warm stranger has the world at his fingertips, but he’s folded in a cheap plastic chair with a semi famous athlete who doesn’t know shit about the kind of empire he runs, not shying away from the harsh lighting and the sub-par burgers, he’s gently walking around invisible lines drawn in the sand, not a forceful bone in that sculpted body. Just a tired, beautiful boy, hiding his pain, happy to sit and rank luxury hotels based on the smell of their air freshener. He can’t see this man paying penance for anything grave. He feels like somebody dear and near Shane lost a few lifetimes ago. He can see his messy pile of designer clothes making any place feel like a home.
“Then let’s get you in that bath. I would feel better knowing you’re in a comfortable bed, at least trying to get some sleep.”
It speaks volumes about their connection that Ilya doesn’t even attempt to make a joke about getting into each other’s beds and baths.
***
Shane ask the driver to stop the car when he spots the 24/7 pharmacy. He makes a quick trip and dumps the bag full of athletic grade topical analgesics on Ilya’s lap.
“There, now I won’t stay awake the whole night, mulling over the fact that I didn’t do anything useful.”
Ilya looks dumbfounded. The implications are making Shane think he doesn’t get enough kindness. It’s gonna get someone strangled.
“Oh, I don’t know what to say ... thank you. People don’t do this kind of things for me.“ They must be idiots.
It doesn’t take long for Ilya to close his eyes and put his head on Shane’s shoulder, single-handedly changing the course of a life or two between one breath and another. The streetlights reflect on the chain around his neck. What if Shane went ahead and kissed his neck? He’s not strong enough to resist kissing the top of his head.
“You looked so magnificent up there. I could feel the ground shake beneath my feet, or maybe that was my injured knees finally tapping out.”
“How do I look down here?” His voice is heavy, it’s a miracle he’s not asleep yet.
“Still brilliant, certainly adorable.” Ilya, honest to god, giggles. What kind of cruel creature does that to poor, faint-hearted Canadian citizens?
“I like you Shane Hollander.”
“Me? Boring, little old me?”
“Tragic and criminal, I know.
Good thing I’m not that interesting these days. I don’t even smoke whole packages of cigarettes anymore. On a scale of black bow tie and satanic chicken sacrifice, I’m on a respectful feminine eye shadow and nipple piercing. For now. Well, there’s the occasional dress, but my legs are just too good to go to waste.”
This man has made Shane laugh more than anybody else in a single night. He should’ve gotten off this train hours ago. Now he’s totally fucked, and his heart is jumping through hoops to take a seat on the curve of Ilya’s collarbone.
“I wholeheartedly agree. Justice for your beautiful legs.
I like you too, if I haven’t made it obvious.”
They start giggling like maniacs.
“We are so embarrassing. I’ve never felt so sixteen, it’s exciting.”
“Wait! I’m like legally obligated to listen to your music now. What do I do? Where should I start? Is there a list?”
“Eh, I don’t mind, but since I checked out your discography, it’s only fair you see some of mine. Give me your phone; I’ll send you some playlists.”
“I don’t have a discography Rozanov, I’m a hockey player.”
“Potato, tomato. I searched you once and then you kept popping up. You’re everywhere. I’m learning about sports again my will. My algorithm is stalking you or something.”
“Blaming personal obsession on algorithm is a choice. You’re cute so I’ll let you get away with it.”
This can’t be Shane’s life, but he’s nevertheless grateful to be in it.
“Hush. You should hear some of the new stuff I’m working on. I want opinions, it’ll be hilarious.” It’ll be nerve-wracking but they both know Shane will do it anyway.
“Random man gets to hear new music without even listening to the old ones. I’ll be found dead under a bridge if the internet finds out about this.”
“The right to hear unfinished projects is reserved for coworkers, close friends and handsome gentlemen who give me back rubs and head kisses. I don’t make the rules.”
Shane want to say a lot of things. You can make all the rules. Can I keep giving you kisses for the unforeseeable future? Can I hunt down all the other men on the line and kneecap them? Do you feel this too? Is there a physical string tying us together? Words seem too inadequate. He settles for another kiss. How can someone’s hair smell so good? It’s addictive.
“This one wants to meet you some more.” And live inside your eyes.
“Me too. I’ll let you know when I feel more human.”
The car stops. How can he ever say goodbye to this man? He wants to quit his job and follow Ilya around the globe, his bank account can afford it.
“Thank you for a great night. You have no idea how much I needed this. My driver will take you back.”
“It’s not necessary. I’ll call a car.”
“And I will call the police.” Shane has a growing suspicion that Ilya Rozanov doesn’t hear the word no very often.
“Thank you. I had a very great time too.”
Ilya’s smiling mischievously and Shane’s soul leaves his body when he gets a sweet kiss on the cheek.
“I look forward to our next meeting Mr. Big Shot Hockey Player. No goodbyes for now.”
And just like that he’s out of the car, leaving Shane to say goodnight to the back of his head. Breathless and bewitched, stuck with a smile that’s gonna get a trademark and stay for many years.
Is this what people feel when they jump into a pool from the rooftop? Did Shane just do that with his heart?
Is he a little bit in love? Maybe. But that’s alright. It’s between him and the stars in the sky. They can keep a secret.
***
I’m wonderstruck, blushin’ all the way home
I’ll spеnd forever wonderin’ if you knеw
I was enchanted to meet you
Some random Instagram user in the comments section: OH MY GOD. Who has my boy singing Enchanted on acoustic guitar at four in the morning, all soft and cuddly, looking like a gift from god? I want to give them flowers... and a shovel talk.