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"Holmberg." Ilya was aware his voice was sharp and cold.
Holmberg got off the ice and followed Ilya into the locker room.
"Sit. Down." Ilya was also aware he sounded very Russian.
Holmberg sat.
"You are very lucky Haas is not the kind of person to throw the first punch, but you are more than deserving of it."
"But-"
"Shut. Up."
Holmberg's jaw snapped shut audibly, teeth probably grinding together. He'd probably lose most of them before the end of his career. Though Ilya was pretty close to telling Wiebe, Holmes, and management to trade the asshole somewhere like Toronto. Or Montreal. He'd fit right in.
"You do not get to shit on Ash's happiness and claim is because he's your brother. You do not get to shit on Haas' happiness and claim is because he's your best friend. Currently, you are not worthy of either fucking title- Sit. Down." Ilya glared when Holmberg tried to leave. "You will listen to me as your captain, as Ash's friend, and as the only person you know who has even the slightest idea what is going through Ash's head right now."
"I-"
"What you just said was unacceptable. You misgendered your brother, you outed Luca to the entire team and staff, you are very lucky is private practice today and not streaming." Ilya pointed out the door. "If that had been broadcast you would be off this team in five seconds and on your way to fucking Arizona right now." He dug his index and middle fingers into Holmberg's chest, towering over him. "You are on thin fucking ice, you have no privileges, you will not appear in any promotional content, and you will not be on the second line if you lose this next game."
"What about-"
"Alexander David Holmberg, you outed your best friend. Your pissy tantrum on any other team except one would have gotten him at the very least ostracized and at worst bruised and on waivers." Ilya glared. "Give me one fucking good reason why I shouldn't do the same to you."
Holmberg, wisely, shut up.
Ilya straightened. "Ash is safe. That is all you have earned. You miss many many signs, you take away something that brought him proper happiness, and you claim to love and support him. If I lose Shane, I would not be here. You consider yourself exceedingly lucky I know people who will support him through yet another suicide watch."
Holmberg's eyes widened, like it hadn't occurred to him until that moment that Ash might be spiralling.
"He was sitting in the stands. He heard everything," Ilya said the last word slowly, one syllable at a time.
"I didn't-"
"Intent doesn't matter," Shane said from the door, sounding as terrifying as Ilya. "You called him your sister. He has sacrificed so much to keep you in his life, and you tore out his heart and tossed his corpse out for good measure."
"I didn't-"
"Did Rozanov tell you to shut up or didn't he?" Shane interrupted.
Holmberg closed his mouth again.
"I have dealt with bullshit normalized homophobia for pretty much my whole life, that's what hockey breeds. What you just did? That outburst? You can claim to be an ally five ways to fucking Sunday, but you aren't. There is, quite literally, no other term for what you just spewed besides toxic, misogynistic, homophobic, and transphobic bullshit, because you feel like you get to dictate how Ash and Luca feel. You don't. That is not how this works. And you better figure out how to be okay with it before it destroys all three of you. And if the next words out of your mouth are any variation of how, I will punch you. You're a grown fucking adult, so is Luca, so is Ash. You have a literal supercomputer in your pocket. Look. It. Up."
Shane stood up from where he'd been leaning in the door frame. "And, if it wasn't abundantly clear, if it comes down to a choice between you and Haas, we will both be picking Luca. Not only because we protect our own, but because he is twice the player you are. You're a good player, you're not that good."
"Go home. If you're here when practice ends, I doubt our boys will be happy with you."
Ilya walked out and back to the ice, stopping in the shadows of the tunnel to slump against the wall.
"Hey. Hey," Shane spoke softly, stepping right up to Ilya, their legs slotting together so Ilya could pour into Shane's arms, his back clinging to the wall.
"Sorry-"
"Don't you dare apologize, Hollander," Shane kept his voice low, but the sharpness was still there. Ilya smiled despite himself, using what felt like the last few drops of his strength to move his suddenly anchor-heavy arms to wrap around Shane's waist. "You said everything right, you did everything right."
"Only 'cause you had the line on the ice," Ilya mumbled into Shane's chest.
"Because it's my line," Shane pointed out. "Ash might not actually be part of your line, but he's still part of your line."
Ilya frowned. "That does not make sense, Rozanov."
"You have his back, he has yours. Where'd you send him, anyway?"
"He got accepted to an art thing in Vancouver, was gonna turn it down 'cause it does not have room or hotel or anything. And he couldn't buy last minute ticket." Ilya heaved a sigh and stood up straighter, pressing more into Shane's space. "I bought him ticket, I called him a car, and I called Rose."
The tenseness in Shane's shoulders bled away completely, the ghost of a smile crossing his pretty face. "Really?"
"She lives with Juniper, and she is shooting with Miles and his husband. I thought art-y queers were needed." Ilya nuzzled Shane's nose. "Instead of sport queers."
"You're going to meddle," Shane stated. Because he knew Ilya, knew Ilya wouldn't stay out of it.
"Eventually, yes, but..." Ilya looked to the side, to the brightly illuminated ice, to Luca getting back on the ice with Troy close behind him.
"Give them time," Shane insisted. "Before you truly attempt to meddle."
"Not too much, though."
"Not too much," Shane agreed, brushing Ilya's curls away from his face. "Ya tebya lyublyu."
Ilya smiled, his own eyes returning to the familiar deep brown of Shane's gaze. He hugged him tighter, pressing a kiss to Shane's sweat-damp hair. "I'm so fucking lucky to have you."
"And deserving of me," Shane added without missing a beat.
"And deserving of you," Ilya agreed. "Let's try to salvage this practice, okay?"
"Lead the way, Captain."
And if that did things to Ilya's dick he wasn't going to indulge them until much later, when Mac was fast asleep and their bedroom door was securely locked.