Prompt: Brat Summer. ~470 words. @shanesummerfest (Post-TLG.)
Ilya had no idea how she managed this, but Svetlana actually convinced Shane to go to an EDM festival with them. Not only that, but she also picked out his outfit earlier that night.
That was how Ilya came to be standing at a music festival between Svetlana and Shane; his Shane, with his thighs out, guns out, dressed in the tiniest 3-inch shorts, a neon muscle tee, and a backwards cap. The three of them were covered in glow sticks.
Ilya had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
Shane didn't really like clubs or parties or concerts or anything fun. But this music festival was held in a large open field. There was even a 5K course for runners set up around the main stage, which, of course, they raced around on a few times without breaking a sweat or missing a beat—heavy dance music bumping to the rhythm of their hearts in the background.
After one of their laps, Ilya left for a bit to get them ice-cold water bottles. When he came back, Shane was shirtless.
"Malysh, what happened to your shirt?" Ilya was almost afraid to ask in the off-chance Shane didn't realize he was shirtless.
"Oh, I was overheating, and Svetlana told me to just take it off. So I did."
"Mm, I see. Do you know where it went?" he asked, amused.
"No idea." Shane shrugged.
Then, Svetlana jumped in to pull a shirtless Shane towards the photo booths.
Ilya still didn't know how she was doing this. But what he did know was that there was even less of a chance for him to figure it out, because Shane, with his abs out, nips out, had just entered the chat.
---
At 3 am, after the set was done and they'd responsibly procured a concert tee for Shane to wear for the rest of the night (for Ilya's sanity), one of Svetlana's other friends invited them to an after-party. Ilya was just opening his mouth to say that he and Shane would be turning in for the night before Shane beat him to it.
"We should go!"
"What? Really?" Ilya replied incredulously.
"Yeah! Svetlana said it'll be fun."
Before Ilya could respond, Shane excitedly exclaimed, "Oooo! Tacos!" and immediately took off at full sprint to join a late-night food truck line.
Ilya could only blink. He thought back on their night so far and realized that he'd never seen Shane like this: so careless, so wild, and so free.
It was nice.
So this time, instead of questioning it, Ilya thought it best to just follow suit and let go. But before he took off to join Shane in the taco line, he turned to Svetlana to say, "I don't deserve you."
"Da, you really don't," she replied with a smile.
+ (A/N: This was all vibes, but this is what brat summer is to me: going out, partying late, dressing a bit slutty, being a bit messy, and ultimately, letting go.) + (more on A03) + (tsym @wckdtwn for the beta)
I'm still thinking about the guy who saw me realize my wheelchair wouldn't fit in the elevator because he (also a wheelchair user) was already inside it and immediately quipped, "This elevator ain't accessible enough for the both of us."
hello hi hello i heard it was torturing tommy kinard hours. he’s trapped in a hot elevator with his ex (buck) and his ex’s ex (dealers choice) for hours with nothing to do but talk about their feelings (he’d rather die) (seriously he’s literally in hell)
It has to be Taylor, doesn't it? Because they match. This is Tommy's POV, and Evan and Taylor match. They've got the eyes and the smiles and the cheeks. They look great together, they look like the heterosexual dream. Both kind (he's assuming here about Taylor) and driven and passionate about their jobs. (Tommy is making a lot of assumptions about someone he has only seen on TV, but the elevator is really hot and he's also maybe having a little break from reality, seeing Evan for the first time in a long time.)
The smiles are awkward, but it doesn't make them less gorgeous, and Tommy keeps thinking their children would never stop smiling. They would come out smiling and well adjusted, and Tommy is for some reason imagining Evan as some sort of house husband, even though Evan wouldn't like that at all, and their jobs don't exactly allow for the picture in Tommy's head, where Evan has dinner ready, when his hot wife comes home from the office, but whatever. This is the future he has imagined for Evan. He doesn't have to deal with the gay stuff, he gets to live a normal life, that maybe veers a little bit too hard into the kind of world those assholes on TV keep trying to force everyone to do, but it's easy, right? If you do what society tells you, you get rewarded, and if anyone deserves to be rewarded, it's Evan.
The two of them never sat down and discussed their exes at length, but Tommy has heard about Taylor a few times – and never the bad stuff, so surely, they could get back together. Evan introduced her as his ex, but it didn't sound like it meant anything. Evan introduced him as just Tommy, so maybe they're skipping the whole ex thing.
But Evan gets nervous and doesn't stop talking, and suddenly Evan outs himself to his ex, who doesn't look surprised at all. (I don't think you can have adventorous sex with someone and not notice certain things.) Suddenly Taylor is interested in him and sweat starts pouring down his back.
Taylor asks why they broke up and Evan explains it to her, but he explains it wrong, and Tommy is going to die here anyway, so he might as well set the record straight. Evan and Taylor are going to survive this, they're way too pretty to die. But then Evan gets upset, because he thinks Tommy is in the wrong, and OK, they're good at bickering. Fighting? Less so. The elevator is too small to contain their emotions, which, at this point, Tommy would like for the cables to break and plummet them to their deaths. It would be a novel way to go for a firefighter. Nothing is even on fire.
But then he looks at the number above the door and they're only on the fourth floor and there's no basement, so they probably wouldn't die.
Suddenly Taylor Kelly's hand is on his arm and Taylor Kelly's face tells him to breathe. Which is probably a good idea. Seems like he stopped doing that. She's a very pretty woman, no wonder Evan is into her. Not all that dissimilar to Abby, actually. With the hair and the eyes.
And Tommy isn't that. Tommy isn't a beautiful, redheaded woman with small hands and a good attitude.
When Tommy's vision clears up and the walls stop closing in, he sees Evan sitting in the opposite corner, looking upset.
”Are you OK?” Evan asks him and Tommy can't exactly be honest, can he? Tommy has aged approximately twenty years, since he walked away. Everything hurts, he doesn't remember what happiness feels like. Evan has aged in reverse, looking more beautiful than ever. He's bigger than before, which looks like a healthy mix of fat and muscle.
The kind of body kids would love. Soft for cuddles and strong enough to throw them around – nevermind the fact that Evan told him he has no desire to become a parent. Tommy had helped babysit Jee-Yun one time – only the once – and Evan had leaned into him and told him how exciting it was to hold her for the first time, and how ecstatic he was that he wasn't taking her home; that she wasn't his.
But that doesn't fit the narrative in Tommy's head, and he's managed to convince himself that half the memories of their relationship are fake anyway, and it wasn't actually as good as he remembers.
Part of him wants to be honest, since he doesn't expect to see Evan after this (whether he dies or not), but he can't tell his ex and his ex's ex that he's regretted the breakup since the moment the door to Evan's loft closed behind him. Or maybe the moment the words left his mouth. Even as he said them, he knew he didn't mean it.
”I'm fine,” Tommy says.
”Right,” Evan nods. ”Because you look fine.”
And OK, Tommy has a type, and a lot neuroses, and Evan being catty always gets him going, even now, apparently. ”I get claustrophobic.”
”No, you don't.”
”It's hot in here.”
”You're a firefighter.”
Tommy is not a patient man. He shoves down all the nicknames that would probably hurt a lot and puts on a grimace, that could maybe pass as a smile, and says, ”I'm uncomfortable. I'd like to get out of here.”
Evan calls dispatch again, but the situation hasn't changed. There are several big emergencies going on at the moment, and they're safe, so they're not currently a priority.
They sit in agonising silence for a while. Taylor is by far handling it better than the two of them. Evan is still pouty and upset, but seems to be behaving, beacuse of Taylor. As much as he's telling himself he wouldn't, the way Evan is looking at him tells him that Evan would be so far up his ass right now, if they were alone.
And maybe he longs for that, a little bit. Maybe it would be nice if Evan lost it a little bit and got demanding. But Taylor seems nice and maybe she never found out she was dating a crazy person.
Tommy misses dating a crazy person. He misses Evan like a limb. His life is so fucking boring and empty. They're too far from Harbor, but Tommy knows at least two people currently on shift, who'd go rogue if he called. It was his first thought, when no one answered the emergency button, and 911 said they were on hold, but Tommy is also a crazy person, who wouldn't mind figuring out what would happen, if he got locked in a room with Evan. Too bad his nervous system is a little bitch, who can't handle the heat.
It's so hot in the elevator, Tommy can feel his eyeballs sweating.
”It was me, OK?” Tommy blurts, when Evan won't stop pouting. ”I broke it off, because I thought you weren't fully in it.”
”I asked you to move in!” Evan explodes.
”We don't know each other! But I wanted to. I wanted to know you, Evan. I wanted to keep getting to know you.”
Evan's lip wobbles for a second, before he bites down on it. He glances at Taylor, and tucks himself more tightly into the corner. ”I wanted that, too.”
Taylor is sitting in the third corner, trying to do the math and figure out what the hell happened, because so far, it sounds pretty stupid. She asks how they met and Evan tells her about the hurricane. Tommy clocks the professional interest immediately, but she probably can't sell the story so long after the fact.
Taylor is kind to Evan, tells him she's not surprised he would like someone like Tommy. Which is a crazy thing for your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend to say, even if Evan doesn't seem to think so.
Nothing gets solved in the elevator. They talk in fits and starts, all three of them, but nothing gets off the ground. When it's finally their turn to get rescued, they're like three cats in a pillowcase.
As they get checked for heat stroke, Evan has reached peak pout. Tommy is worse off than the other two, and spends a long few minutes sitting in the ambulance, until Evan comes over and tells him, ”She dumped me, so stop looking at her like that.”
”Like what?”
”Like I'm about to get on the back of her motorcycle.”
It takes Tommy entirely too long to understand that the motorcycle isn't literal.
”I dumped you, too.”
”Yeah, but you didn't mean it,” Evan huffs. ”She did.”
Tommy's whole body is drenched in sweat and he's pretty sure he's going to pass out, if he attempts to stand up. ”I didn't mean it?” Evan is standing in the worst spot, with the sun right behind his head, and Tommy thinks he might throw up.
”No,” Evan says firmly. ”You're dumb. And mentally ill. And … And I should've called you.”
The medic passes Tommy a bottle of water, which he gulps down. He reaches out for Evan's hip and pushes him to the side, so he blocks the sun better, and Evan grabs the chance to hold his hand. His clammy, disgusting hand that has been touching the floor of an elevator for the better part of a day.
The medic hands him a second bottle, cap already off. Tommy sips this one. Maybe the hospital would be a good idea, but he's really not in the mood for it.
”Did you drive here?” Evan asks.
”I did.”
”Let me take you home? I'll make sure you don't die.”
Tommy turns to the medic and tells her, ”I'm not as old as I look.” She doesn't care.
”Come on, old man. You can complain all the way home, if you want. Or pass out. Whatever you're in the mood for.”
”And then what?”
”And then I'll corner you in your own home, where you can't escape.”
"Lancer de Hollander, et il compte! Quel beau but!" (A shot by Hollander, and he scores! What a beautiful goal!)
"Let's go, Shane!" Yuna cheered at the TV as David laughed heartily, clapping his hands.
It was Ilya's first time watching Shane play with the Hollanders at their Ottawa home. He hadn't known what to expect when they invited him, but watching the Hollanders put a goofy smile on his face. It was so heartwarming to think that Shane's parents still got this excited watching him score, even though they must've seen it a million times by now.
"Wow, this is his best goal of the season yet," David said as the broadcast replayed the goal in slow-motion.
"Close, but not quite," Yuna stated. "It's not like that slap shot goal he had against Buffalo. The one all the way from center ice. Accuracy from that distance? Hard to beat that."
David hummed. "How about his breakaway goal last week against Toronto? I mean, speed and style points? That was a beaut!"
"Ah, sorry. But you are both wrong," Ilya said carefully. Both Hollanders turned to look at him, expressions expectant.
He shrugged. "You are forgetting Shane's overtime goal in New York back in February."
After a moment, David said, "Oh yeah!"
Yuna snapped her fingers. "When he deked and scored—"
"—Yes, in front of old man Hunter," Ilya smirked.
That made David chuckle, his eyes crinkling just like Shane's when he laughed.
"Not bad, Rozanov." Yuna gave him a quick nod and a warm smile.
The game continued on. Shane was playing like a man possessed, like he knew they were watching.
"You know, Ilya, we watch your games too."
"Mm?" Ilya looked over, surprised. He wasn't sure what to say. "You do not have to."
"Oh, but we want to. You're a great player to watch," Yuna said matter-of-factly. "That goal you had against Vancouver late in the third? What a highlight."
"High wrap around, lacrosse style!" David nodded with a wide smile on his face. "Honestly, son, I was in awe."
So was Ilya in that moment. His own family never complimented him, so hearing this from the Hollanders made him feel a tightness in his chest.
"And you had a hat trick that game." Yuna beamed. "Impressive."
"Thank you," he said quietly. Ilya stared at the TV intently, careful to avoid eye contact.
"Still not as good as Shane, though," Yuna teased, her tone playful.
"Ah, no?" Ilya laughed. "I will have to keep trying then."
"Oh, we know you will."
That was one thing they could all agree on at least.
+ (A/N: The announcer dialogue at the start is in French because they are watching the Montreal broadcast—like how the Habs' main media is all in French IRL.) + (more on AO3) + (tsym @astronautme for the beta)
shane looooovesss shaping ilya’s curls into hearts. the problem is they are curls, so a tiny action could send all his work to waste at once, so both shane and ilya has to be very very still for this whole ordeal. usually shane would find curls that already sort of faces each other and guide them to the desired position, but sometimes the curls beat him and he has to find another one. my point is, one time shane makes a whole head of heart curls (this is an exaggeration, he probably made 5 sporadically) on ilya and he snaps a photo of it. it has ilya’s lovesick eyes looking at him too and so it becomes shane’s homescreen wallpaper (his lockscreen is them hoisting the cup together, thank you very much).
they have a fun interview with harris one day and harris asks to see their lock and home screen photos. it goes semi viral on hockey twt and one of the most popular rt was “roz’s ass down horrendously bad for his husband his hair is proclaiming love lmfao”. that was retweeted by bood, accidentally, after laughing and showing it to cassie.
Shane was having a terrible day during what was likely the worst week of his life.
For starters, the promotion—the long-awaited, coveted promotion he’d wanted for months—had gone to someone else. It was completely unfair, considering how hard he worked for the company, but these things happen, so he’d let it slide. But as if that stress weren't enough, his coworkers had suddenly lost all sense of personal boundaries, messaging him even outside of work hours.
Simply awful.
And now, to make matters worse, his car—a model that reviews claimed was a veritable war machine, suitable for any occasion and great in the snow—had simply decided to die on the way home.
Just great.
Shane turned the engine off and on again, taking a deep breath before turning the key, hoping for a miracle. As if reading his mind, the car shuddered a few times, making promising noises, only to die once more.
In the back seat, his four-year-old son was asleep in his car seat clutching his favorite stuffed duck, completely oblivious to the situation. Earlier that day, his preschool had called Shane to say he had a mild fever and should probably go home.
Shane was supposed to be getting home to give him some medicine, but now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a small child, and the mere thought of it sent a wave of panic surging through his chest.
He was living his worst nightmare.
He rubbed his face with one hand, wondering if he should get out of the car just to check what might be going on. It wasn't as if he knew much about mechanics, certainly, but God only knew how long it would take for roadside assistance to reach this spot.
Was he somewhere on Route 138?
Damn, Shane should call his mom. His parents could take Yuri somewhere more comfortable and look after him while Shane dealt with the hassle of getting his car towed to the dealership.
That was a good idea.
But just as the idea struck, the realization that his parents weren't even in town hit him hard. A wedding anniversary? Shane had a vague memory of his mom mentioning they were going away to celebrate something, and if he wasn't mistaken—which he rarely was—that day was today.
Everything was going wrong.
He could call his best friends, Rose and Hayden for help. No. It was better to call roadside assistance and hope the service would be fast enough.
Just as his fingers reached for his phone, ready to make the call, the sound of an engine caught his attention. Beside him, a red pickup truck gradually slowed down until it finally came to a stop right next to him.
"Everything okay?" the driver asked, his voice concerned.
Shane looked up from his phone and found himself staring at a blond man with beautiful blue eyes; the man had an unlit cigarette between his lips and a bit of stubble on his face.
And he was handsome.
Maybe "handsome" wasn't even the right word; The guy was drop-dead gorgeous—as if all of Shane’s wildest wet dreams had suddenly come to life.
Shane froze for a few seconds, the words slipping from his mind for a brief moment. But reality soon came crashing back. Unfortunately, this wasn't the day to fall for a stranger—not when he was in the middle of a panic attack.
"We're good," Shane replied almost reflexively, even though he clearly wasn't.
The man raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing a word Shane had said.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
But when he got no answer, he simply sighed—as if telling himself "I tried"—and gave up, his fingers returning to the steering wheel, ready to drive off and leave Shane alone.
And Shane didn't want to be alone.
Damn it.
"My car won't start," Shane admitted the moment he saw the man start his own car, ready to pull away. His voice held a note of almost embarrassed distress at having to say it out loud.
The man turned his gaze back to Shane, looking somewhat wary.
"I can take a look, if you want. I'm a mechanic, you know?"
As soon as Shane nodded the man finally allowed himself to smile.
He turned off his car again and maneuvered the pickup truck with ease, parking next to Shane’s vehicle. Then, he opened the door, taking the cigarette out of his mouth as if he’d only just remembered it was there.
Shane got out of his car too, but didn't close the door, just in case Yuri woke up.
Now, seeing him more clearly, he noticed the man was wearing a black tank top that showed off his strong arms, and jeans marked with dark stains that looked like old grease.
A real mechanic.
Seriously... what were the odds?
"British?" the man asked pointing at Shane’s car with a slightly raised eyebrow.
"It’s practical. Good for snow," Shane replied, offering a small, sheepish smile.
The man shrugged, a look of mild amusement playing on his lips.
"Fair."
He rested both hands on the bodywork and, in a practiced, automatic motion, pulled the hood release to check Shane’s engine. His eyes scanned every detail, and he seemed genuinely focused on the task at hand.
Shane stood beside him, watching without really understanding what was being done. Perhaps he should have learned about cars instead of hyper-focusing on trains throughout his childhood.
Shane was focused on this when an irritated grumble came from the back seat. Yuri, the little sleeper, had finally woken up.
The boy was rubbing his eyes with his fists, his face still crumpled from sleep, and his expression was a mix of confusion, fatigue, and the onset of tears—bothered by not being home and, worse yet, by still being sick.
“Papa...” he whimpered, his voice small and tearful.
Shane walked over to the back door, opened it, and immediately held out his arms.
“Hey...”
And before Shane could finish the sentence, Yuri unbuckled himself from the car seat—moving at lightning speed—and threw himself into Shane’s lap. The child’s fingers wrapped tightly around his father’s neck, his face buried in Shane’s shoulder.
Shane slowly rubbed the boy’s back in a soothing motion while the child mumbled softly, acting completely clingy.
“He's grumpy when he wakes up.”
The mechanic looked up from the engine, wiping one hand on his trousers before glancing at the boy. A faint smile appeared on his face.
“Mine's the same. She'd probably be screaming if she'd just woken up.”
He looked back at the engine for a few more seconds. Then, he let out a soft sigh, carefully closed the hood, and gave the bodywork two light taps.
“Look... I don't think your car can be fixed right now. I can hitch your car to the truck and drive you both home. What do you think?”
And Shane couldn't say no.
The drive was very peaceful. Yuri stayed in Shane’s lap the whole way, much calmer now, distracted by twisting strands of Shane’s hair around his fingers. Every now and then, though, he’d lift his head to watch Ilya. Curious.
Whenever Ilya noticed and looked back, Yuri’s eyes would go wide; he’d quickly hide half his face against Shane’s chest, only to peek out again a few seconds later.
It soon turned into a little silent game between the two of them, and in some strange way, it felt domestic to Shane. Yuri’s giggles began to fill the truck’s cabin, completely replacing the crying from just minutes before.
It didn't take long for the cabin to appear through the trees.
“Thank you. How much…”
"Don't even think about it. There's no need, sir...?"
"Just Shane, no "sir."
"Okay, just Shane. I'm Ilya. " The man replied with a soft laugh (a lovely sound) as he extended a hand in greeting.
And the moment Shane’s fingers met Ilya’s hand—that warm palm against his own—he couldn't help but think that maybe breaking down in the car hadn't been such a bad thing after all.
---
Shane hadn't expected to see him again, but less than a month later, there he was.
He had just picked Yuri up from school when a little blonde blur came racing past them in the reception area. Fast and precise, zeroing in on her target.
All Shane heard was an "ouch," followed by an "easy, Miluska," spoken in a voice that sounded strangely familiar.
A few meters away, he spotted Ilya. He was standing there, chatting with one of the teachers while absentmindedly running his hand through the little girl's golden hair. The girl—whose name seemed to be Mila—was clinging to his leg, trying to climb him like a tree.
It didn't take long for Ilya to notice him too; his initial surprise quickly gave way to an amused look.
Should he say hello? Did the man even remember him?
"Hey," Shane greeted him as Ilya walked over.
The man was definitely incredible to look at—a real feast for the eyes.
"Coincidence?" Ilya asked with a mischievous smile, chuckling at his own words. "Say hi, Mila."
Mila gazed at Shane and Yuri with her beautiful blue eyes. Suddenly shy, she gripped the fabric of Ilya’s trousers even tighter with her small fingers before raising one hand in a small, hesitant wave.
Yuri waved back but quickly hid half his face behind his father’s leg, leaving only one curious eye peeking out.
Shane laughed at the joke. So many schools in Montreal, and they were at the same one? What were the odds?
Maybe it really was coincidence (or fate).
---
It was pretty obvious that Mila and Yuri would become inseparable.
Mila was a high-energy girl—shy at first, but completely outgoing once she warmed up. It was easy for her to bring Yuri out of his shell and get him to join in on games. And because the kids were inseparable, he and Ilya started seeing each other more often.
They did almost everything together under the guise of doing it for the children, when in reality, they simply enjoyed each other's company.
At some point, Shane realized he knew a lot about Ilya. He knew Ilya was Russian and had moved there at a young age when his parents divorced.
He knew Ilya had taken custody of his niece, Mila, after his brother’s family was involved in a car accident, and that he had been caring for her since she was a baby. He knew Ilya had started the job initially for the money, but eventually grew to love being a mechanic and the freedom the work gave him.
He had opened a small workshop in front of his house; being his own boss allowed for a flexible schedule, ensuring he could be as present as possible in Mila’s life.
Ilya was a great guy.
Beneath that whole "Russians don't do that" persona, he was caring and concerned, always trying to ensure everyone was okay.
And maybe Shane was a little in love with him.
Every time he looked at him with those beautiful blue eyes, Shane felt his heart flutter and his palms sweat. Every time Ilya ruffled his hair in a "friendly" way, Shane felt like a teenager hitting puberty.
And the worst part was, he could almost swear Ilya was interested too. He just had no way to prove it.
---
On that day, Shane and Yuri had gone to the park for a picnic with Ilya and Mila. They had arrived early and were watching the ducks when a random woman remarked that they looked "delicious."
It was a matter of minutes, from the moment Shane had to explain why the woman had said that, to the realization hitting Yuri full force.
"But… Ducks are friends..." he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. Ducks were his favorite animal in the world; almost all his clothes featured something related to ducks, and even his favorite book (even though it always made her cry) was The Ugly Duckling.
Shane tried to explain.
He always tried to tell his son the truth and didn't want to lie to him. His fingers reaching out to wipe the tears streaming down his chubby cheeks, but Yuri just shrank away, refusing to be comforted by his father.
That was when another voice spoke up beside them.
"Is everything okay?" Ilya asked, but a single glance at Shane’s face told him things weren't okay. "Hey, why is this little baby duck crying? Someone died?"
Damn.
Just hearing the words "duck" and "die" made Yuri sob even harder.
Without hesitation, Ilya lifted him off the ground with absurd ease, settling him onto his lap. One of his hands began to move slowly up and down the boy's back, in slow, steady strokes.
Mila, who had been standing beside Ilya, clinging to his leg, tilted her head curiously and asked in Russian what was happening; Ilya simply said the boy was probably having a rough day.
Soon, she asked to be held too, and Ilya shifted her to his other arm, carrying both children as if they weighed absolutely nothing.
Mila also began patting Yuri’s back, imitating the way Ilya was comforting him. It took several long minutes for Yuri’s crying to gradually subside, turning into soft sniffles as his face remained buried in Ilya’s shoulder.
"Want to cry a little more?" Ilya asked.
The boy seemed to consider the suggestion for a few seconds, then shook his head.
"No, thank you."
Soon, Yuri seemed to realize that he wasn't being held by his father.
He looked at Ilya with his brown eyes, then at Shane, before reaching out his arms to be held by him. Seeing that Yuri wanted to go to Shane, Mila also reached out, wanting to be picked up at the same time.
Ilya smiled at him—a beautiful smile—and Shane couldn't help but imagine all his days being just like this.
It was a strangely domestic scene, but he didn't hate it at all.
He wanted this.
And also, he wanted Ilya.
note: Thanks to @pikachusthef for reviewing and polishing the English! This one was really sweet to write, especially since you get to see them becoming friends and—possibly (probably) something more. Also, just to make clear: I don't understand anything about cars or car insurance, and I know nothing about Canada and its roads. This fic was inspired by this tweet (CLICK HERE), and as always, Yuri looks like this and Mila looks like this in my head. And yes, Yuri, Yelena, and Mila will always be Hollanov kids' names in any universe I imagine. See you guys!
hollanov - omegaverse – alphas and omegas are paired based on compatibility.
Shane was a single omega who hated mating season.
Every year, omegas and alphas were paired up in a government-organized process designed to facilitate meetings between compatible individuals. The participants were registered in the system and evaluated based on a series of factors that determined a compatibility percentage between potential partners.
Shane had been participating in this process since he had presented. Because he had presented late, his registration in the system was relatively recent and hardly any of his matches ever made it past the first stage.
Officially, he had already been paired with two partners identified by the system as highly compatible: a guy named John, with 56% compatibility, and another named Phil, with 70%.
Neither attempt really progressed beyond the second phase.
Despite the percentages being considered good, Shane never managed to feel comfortable. There was a part of him—a more instinctive, obscure, and stubborn part—that simply wasn't interested in those people.
Were they simply... boring?
His inner omega didn't approve of those candidates, even though the numbers said the matches should work, that they would likely be good together; not perfect, obviously, but good.
But for him, it didn't work that way.
Over time, Shane accepted that perhaps the process simply wasn't for him. He had already given up and was prepared to spend another mating season alone when he received a new email notification.
A new match had been paired with him.
Shane opened the message without expecting much. It would likely be just another name, another percentage, and another failed attempt that would end up like all the others.
99% compatibility.
Shane stared at the message for a few seconds, almost in disbelief. Was this actually possible?
He emailed the platform's support team, almost certain there had to be a mistake, yet within two hours, he received confirmation. The system congratulated him on the highest compatibility match recorded in the last twenty years.
Right.
Shane took a deep breath, his hands trembling with nervousness as he held his phone; the bold text seemed almost painful to look at.
This would be the last time.
If it didn't work out this time, he would give up and pretend the whole thing had been a collective delusion.
It was fine. He would just go there and come back. Nothing would actually happen (or at least, that’s what he thought).
—
Shane arrived at the matchmaking center earlier than necessary.
He checked the address a third time before entering the building, even though he already knew exactly where it was. He was more nervous than he had ever been; his fingers kept drifting to his hair whenever he felt like his heart might leap out of his chest.
He tried to breathe slowly, but anxiety seemed to tighten his chest a little more with every step.
Once past the reception desk, he gave his name. The receptionist smiled politely as she pointed down the hallway, and Shane offered a quick nod of thanks before heading that way.
He entered a room with a simple set up: there is a long table in the center, two chairs, and a small window facing outside. He chose a chair at random and sat down, leaning back against the seat as he looked around.
His eyes wandered over the bare walls, the corners of the room and the closed door, as if any distraction might help him forget why he was there.
The first stage of the process was relatively easy.
They were just supposed to talk and see if they had anything in common—if their thoughts and ideologies were compatible. They had two hours to get to know each other and decide whether to move on to the next stage.
Shane already knew how it worked. It wasn't his first time doing this, so he didn't know why he was so nervous.
He took out his phone for a few seconds, opened a few notifications without really paying attention, and slipped it back into his pocket. When he realized, he had picked up his phone for the fifth time, he decided that he should try to focus on something else.
Obviously, it didn't work.
Had he really arrived that early?
Shane glanced at the watch on his wrist; apparently, his partner was fifteen minutes late.
Great first impression.
Shane ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the thought, but before he could go any further, the doorknob slowly turned.
The door opened, and a tall man with golden hair and blue eyes walked in, wearing a well-fitted white dress shirt and holding a coat in one hand. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a bit to get there, yet his breathing seemed steady, and he showed no signs of nervousness.
And he looked, in a way, like a Greek god stepping onto Earth.
"Hello," Shane said, his voice low and almost trembling.
"Hello," the man replied. He approached the table with a calm gait and pulled out the chair on the opposite side.
Before sitting, he took a quick look around, scrutinizing the room as if absorbing every detail of the setting. His gaze swept over the window, the door, the table until it found Shane and it never looked away.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Shane rested his fingers on the table, waiting for someone to break the silence. The man simply stared back, a faint smile on his lips, looking somewhat at a loss for words himself. The silence wasn't exactly uncomfortable, just a little bit strange, as if both were trying to figure out where to begin.
He was likely just as surprised as Shane by their compatibility, and for a moment, Shane wondered if the man had been just as incredulous as he had been.
“So, do you come here often?” the man asked, the smile on his face widening slightly as he seemed to try to break the awkward silence where neither of them knew what to say.
“Definitely not.”
Shane let out a small, sheepish laugh and looked down at his hands. He suddenly realized he hadn’t even properly greeted the man. It felt strange to sit across from someone without so much as shaking hands and introducing himself properly.
He rose from his chair almost on impulse, extending a hand toward the stranger.
“We can’t touch until the two hours are up,” the man reminded him.
Shane froze mid-motion. His hand hung in the air for a second before he slowly lowered it to his side.
Right. That rule. They were supposed to talk without touching. Without anything that could interfere with or influence the outcome of the pairing.
“My name is Shane,” Shane said as he sat back down, feeling slightly embarrassed for making such a silly mistake.
“Nice to meet you, Shane. I’m Ilya,” the man replied, watching him with an amused expression; his blue eyes tracked every one of Shane’s reactions like a curious animal.
“Unusual name.” Shane tilted his head slightly. He repeated the name a few times in his mind, testing how it sounded in the silence. His mouth parted almost involuntarily so he could whisper it softly, and, to his surprise, Shane realized he liked the way it felt on his lips. “Is it Russian?”
Ilya raised his eyebrows at the question, his mouth opening in surprise.
“How did you...?"
“I studied Russian for a while when I was a kid,” Shane answered before the other man could finish his sentence. “I had weird hobbies…”
A light laugh escaped Ilya’s lips, making his shoulders shake slightly. The sound was lovely to Shane’s ears.
Ilya briefly brought a hand to his face, shaking his head as he settled more comfortably into his chair.
"So, you can speak Russian?"
"I can understand a little bit, know some phrases. Nothing too amazing."
"It sounds amazing to me."
The compliment caught Shane off guard. He glanced down at the table and rested his hands on his thighs, his fingers absently fiddling with a small spot on his trousers.
"Thanks," Shane replied.
Ilya simply nodded, murmuring "my pleasure" in Russian and smiling with satisfaction when Shane let a small smile slip out upon understanding. After a few seconds of silence—which no longer felt quite so awkward—Shane decided to keep the conversation going.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I’m a hockey coach at a school here in Montreal. I work with kids aged five to thirteen. Nothing too amazing." Ilya leaned forward slightly as he spoke, resting his arms across the table. Shane colored when he realize Ilya was making a reference to what he had said earlier; he was obviously trying to tease him.
"Sounds amazing to me..." Shane replied, enjoying the banter. "I used to play hockey when I was a kid."
"You were a very busy kid. Russian and hockey?"
"I had random hyper-fixations, okay?"
"Very important knowledge these days." Ilya smiled, and Shane felt almost foolish for a moment. "And why did you stop? With hockey, I mean."
Shane waved a hand in the air, looking for the best way to explain.
"It stopped being fun at some point." He shrugged. "It was good, but... eventually, it stopped being enjoyable and started feeling like an obligation. But your job sounds like a lot of fun."
Ilya smiled and nodded.
"It is. I really like my job. Although kids can be a bit difficult."
"I can imagine. My best friend, Hayden, has four kids. I can't picture myself with that many children at once."
Ilya leaned back in his chair.
"And what do you do, Mr. Shane?"
"I'm an architect." As soon as he answered, Shane noticed the change in Ilya's expression. His eyes widened for a moment before an amused smile appeared on his face. "What? Why are you making that face?"
"I definitely didn't picture you as an architect."
Shane crossed his arms.
"And what did you think?"
"Real estate agent."
"Real estate agent?"
"I don't know. You look like the type who likes collecting properties. And, for some reason, I think you'd make a great landlord." Shane shook his head, letting out a soft, amused snort before he could even reply.
"You're a idiot."
Both of them were smiling.
The conversation flowed easily from there. They talked about hobbies, things they liked, past experiences, and whatever else came up. At some point, the awkward pauses vanished, and questions arose naturally, one leading to the next. It was surprising how relaxed he felt; in that short time together, he’d likely shared more genuine laughter with Ilya than on any other date in his life.
When the notification that time was up arrived, Shane was almost taken aback. The sound cut their conversation mid-sentence, and he automatically turned toward the door as the staff entered.
The two hours had flown by. They were led to separate rooms and presented with the decision they had to make: proceed to the next stage or end the process.
Usually, this was the point where Shane would walk away.
He knew the drill. Before, he would simply offer thanks, say he hadn't felt a connection, and move on—but he realized this time, he didn't want to leave.
For the first time, he wanted to try to make it work.
And he just hoped Ilya felt the same way.
Note: This is Part 1 of 3. I found this universe—where omegas and alphas are matched based on compatibility rather than other factors—interesting, so I decided to give it a try. The other parts are already written and were theoretically meant to be released together, but I decided to split them up to participate in the challenge of microfics. Part 1 covers the interview, Part 2 will focus on the scent, and Part 3 will feature them signing the contract to be recognized as a real couple.
A huge thank you to @pikachusthef for correcting my English—you're amazing!
Shane and Ilya hadn’t seen each other for 4 months.
After leaving the cottage and having a tearful goodbye at the airport as official boyfriends, they had been surviving off of texts and facetimes for months. They had tried to see each other during the preseason, but due to other obligations, every effort failed.
Shane thought he might lose his mind.
He felt stupid. Even just last season it didn’t feel this damn hard. Ignoring his feelings also made it possible to ignore just how deeply he would miss Ilya in the times they were apart. Now it consumed him. It thrashed in him in a way that left his chest tight and pained. Sometimes it would get so bad that he couldn’t stop himself from telling Ilya how much it hurt, and he would feel a little better when Ilya would tell him he felt the same.
But tonight was their first game against each other of the season. The Raiders were in Montreal, and Shane was going to have Ilya to himself for an entire night.
They leaned down across from each other on the ice for the face off and it took every ounce of control for Shane to stop himself from reaching for his boyfriend in front of the entire stadium.
“How was your summer?” Shane asked, daring to meet Ilya’s eyes.
Ilya’s face split into a grin. “Very good. Best in a long time.”
Montreal won.
The moment Ilya let himself inside Shane’s apartment Shane was on him, wrapping his arms around Ilya in a vice-like grip.
And then Ilya was kissing him. And kissing him and kissing him and kissing him and-
“Wait,” Shane gasped, pulling away. Ilya raised a brow, not-so subtley tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I wanna show you something.”
Intrigued, Ilya gestured in front of him. “Lead the way.”
Shane grabbed Ilya’s hand and pulled him toward the kitchen, Ilya’s feet stuttering as the dining table came more into view. Shane stopped short, suddenly feeling self conscious.
There were a couple candles lit and two plates beside each other, filled with food. A bottle of wine and some glasses framed the display. “I was thinking,” Shane began. “You know, we can’t really like… go on dates or anything. So I thought I could, like, bring a date to us, maybe.”
Ilya didn’t respond at first and just stared, leaving Shane feeling compelled to explain more. “It’s steamed fish. I was trying to think of something that we’d both like, I hope it’s okay.”
Ilya began to blink rapidly and turned to Shane, the smile on his face showing every single tooth in his mouth. “Shane Hollander,” he said, the smile sounding in his voice. “You’re taking me on a date?”
Shane huffed and nodded. “Yeah.”
Ilya grabbed his face with both hands and smacked a loud kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he murmured into Shane’s mouth.
Shane didn’t know happiness could feel like this. This… big. “And I love you. Come on, before it gets cold.”
The two sat hunched together while they ate, giggling and whispering to each other as if they weren’t the only ones in the whole apartment. They stole kisses, grabbed knees, tapped feet.
Shane was damn near in Ilya’s lap the whole dinner.
That is, until he was actually in Ilya’s lap once they finished, fusing his mouth to Ilya’s in a way that left Ilya gasping.
Shane couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment, and he had never been more sure that this was going to be forever.
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