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@shollander24
"I don't think I can keep pretending I don't like you anymore."
Shane Hollander open to interaction.
12+ years of RP/Writing experience, para/multi-para, 3rd person. Mun is 30+. Please see multi-muse hub (@borrowednarratives) for more information/preferences, or just send me a message if you'd like to write together.
(Having some slight issues with messaging across the sideblogs - if anyone's sent me a message in the last hour or so, and I haven't replied, please resend or prod me, mobile app up to some shenanigans. I'm seeing notifications but then they arent showing up anywhere, back on a desktop now.)
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"I won't leave." Shane replied. "Not without at least telling you first, and that's only if I'm asked to leave." He let their hands rest back on the bed, still keeping a hold of his hand. "It's probably reached the point where it's safer I stay here anyway. If I get spotted leaving at this hour then... well." He shook his head. No spiraling.
"I should reply to people though, just so at least my mom knows where I am... and more importantly that her favourite son is okay." His mouth curved into a smile then. "I will need my hand back for that though, Ilya."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
Shane sighed. "Ilya." He corrected himself. "I can do that much at least." A sad sort of smile lingered for a moment before he made an effort to brighten himself up.
"You need to get some sleep though. I'm not going to disappear, but you really should try to rest. Maybe it'll help and then we can get you home sooner." He glanced toward the door, making sure there was nobody around to see, before lifting Ilya's hand and pressing a kiss to the top of it.
"Deal?"
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"Yeah, yeah... don't get ahead of yourself." Shane gave a small nod at his words though, determined to at least try to stop catastrophizing for the night. "We will find a way to make it work. Come up with some solution."
Shane let out a quiet laugh at that, but his expression softened somewhat. "You know I can't do that, Roz. Not here, not right now. I will make it up to you though, once you're home." He turned Ilya's hand over, lacing their fingers together, an action that already felt like a great risk. "I want to. You know that."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"We can work it out. I'm sure my parents would help if needed, though... I suppose they wouldn't appear much more conspicuous than me." Shane sighed; it would probably look just as questionable for his parents to be supporting his supposed rival.
He watched Ilya fondly for a moment, "You should get some rest. I'm lucky they haven't asked me to leave yet, but I don't think that luck will extend much further if they notice that I'm keeping you awake."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"I'm sorry." He apologized. "If I have done something to fuck up the whole keeping secret part. I didn't mean to. I just couldn't control my reaction."
Shane lifted his head briefly to look at Ilya, his eyes slightly watery. "I am here. Obviously." He managed a small, but very fragile smile. "I know. I wish I didn't have to wait until you were home again to do that properly." A thought occurred to him then. Shane had been so fixated on making sure that Ilya was alright that he hadn't even considered what the timeline over the next few days, or weeks, looked like.
"Will you stay with me? When you can come home?"
Ilya didn't say anything, just shaking his head with a sigh, squeezing Shane's hand to try and stop him. "You should have seen me, when it was you..." He said softly, shaking his boyfriend's hand as if to shake him out of his overthinking spiral.
He saw the water in Shane's eyes, and felt ot in his own, so he looked away with a sniffle. "I know you are here now, jackass." He gave a huff of laughter and looked at him for a moment before looking away and physically seeming to deflate. "I would heal much faster, I know it. These nurses, what do they know? I need cuddles." He gave a scoff.
Only to turn to Shane with a look somewhat akin to surprise, eyes wide and smile bright. "Really?" He seemed to realize how dorky he undoubtedly seemed so he cleared his throat and tried to look less interested. "I mean... yes. Will be like cottage, yes?" He gave Shane a look. "Will there be Canadian wolf birds?"
"Mm." Shane agreed, "Hopefully they let you out sooner rather than later." He brushed his thumb lightly over Ilya's knuckles. "But yes, please come stay with me."
It was probably not the smartest idea, if people became aware of his location it would likely complicate things further, but Shane could only think of the positives: the privacy, not having to be cautious of what people might see or overhear.
"Loons?" Shane asked, than shaking his head. "Not in my apartment, no."
there was no reason for the butterflies in ilya’s stomach.
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"I'm sorry." He apologized. "If I have done something to fuck up the whole keeping secret part. I didn't mean to. I just couldn't control my reaction."
Shane lifted his head briefly to look at Ilya, his eyes slightly watery. "I am here. Obviously." He managed a small, but very fragile smile. "I know. I wish I didn't have to wait until you were home again to do that properly." A thought occurred to him then. Shane had been so fixated on making sure that Ilya was alright that he hadn't even considered what the timeline over the next few days, or weeks, looked like.
"Will you stay with me? When you can come home?"
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"I just wasn't ready for this, Roz." Shane drew in a breath, slowly, trying to regain his composure. It wasn't quite so simple and they both knew it deep down. His reaction on the ice hadn't gone unnoticed. There would be questions, and surely with those came consequences.
"I wish we didn't have to hide this." He admitted quietly. "I wish I could just... be there for you. Properly." He leaned forward again, forehead now resting atop their hands. It felt almost pointless to Shane to try maintain distance, reckless perhaps, but also pointless.
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"It's not funny." Shane replied with a frown. "What if I fucked it up? What if-?" He cut himself off, it wasn't fair to take his frustration out on Ilya, especially not right now.
"Sorry." He took a deep breath, carefully placing a hand atop Ilya's. "It's just been a stressful afternoon, I know it has for you too. I'm just freaking out."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"No." Shane answered, head still in his hands. "Had to make my way through three different nurses to get in here. I don't think I pulled off nonchalant well."
At the contact, he glanced up, panic briefly subsiding at his comment. "Have you seen yourself? I'd say you're looking much worse off right now, Rozanov." Shane let his hands fall again, resting against Ilya's leg. "I came straight here. Didn't go home first."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"Yeah... well, I'd argue plenty of people might have seen me this time." Shane's brow furrowed slightly, trying to push down the panic that it already might be too late to preserve their secret. He took the phone back when offered, taking a brief moment to read the message for himself. He could see the other messages starting to pile up too, mostly from team mates and coaches. Shane shoved his phone back into his pocket, propping his elbows on the edge of the bed and resting his head in his hands, he would reply later. "You should rest."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"I was also on pain medicine." Shane corrected, frowning at his answer. "If they took yours off you, there was probably good reason. You shouldn't be looking at screens."He rolled his eyes at the mention of his mom. "Yeah, yeah. I'd say I doubt that, but given you took a hit for me that's probably secured you that spot." Shane gave a small huff. "I can. If I wanted to." He folded his hands back in his lap, settling now that he'd committed to staying. "Just so happens that right now, I'd rather not leave."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
Shane drew in a breath, slowly letting it back out. "I was a lot subtler than you are being, Rozanov." He replied firmly, though he pulled out his phone and placed it in Ilya's hand, letting his fingers linger for just a few moments.
"Why do you want my phone?" He asked, shifting in his chair to try to see what Ilya was doing. "And—" Shane paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "—for the record, I could say no. I just don't want to."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
"Ssh." Shane tried to cut him off, offering a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, I know. Just… you don't have to throw yourself in front of every problem that comes near me."
His thumb brushed once against the edge of the blanket, a tiny movement, and the closest he dared come to touching him more openly. He took a deep breath at the request. "You know I can't—" He started. "I wasn't subtle earlier…" Shane ran a hand through his hair, processing the likelihood that people had noticed the extent of his reaction to Rozanov's injury anyway, even without his extended hospital visit.
"Fuck…" He took a deep breath. "Okay.. okay. I'll stay."
Ilya didn't know what he was thinking, really. All he knew was that someone was barrelling towards Shane and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and that was a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ilya *wasn't* thinking. And that's why, all of the sudden, he was moving faster than he had ever moved before, aiming to stop his teammate from going after Hollander, only to be slammed down to the ice in the process. It winded him and am unpleasant ringing sound excited in his ears as he lay there, head feeling like someone had driven an ice pick into it. He was starting up at the ceiling because there was no where else to look, and then reality faded into darkness with the thought that at least Shane was safe.
For a second, Shane didn't understand what had happened. One moment he'd been tracking the play, the next there was a collision, a tangle of bodies, and someone shouting. Then he saw who was on the ice. "Ilya!"
The name left him before he could stop it. Shane's stomach dropped. His skates bit into the ice as he turned and rushed toward the gathering crowd. Players were kneeling around him now. Someone was calling for the trainers. Shane shoved his way closer before anyone could stop him. Rozanov wasn't moving. A flash of panic shot through him so violently it almost stole his breath.
"Ilya..." This time his voice cracked. He dropped to one knee beside him, reaching out before hesitating. His hands hovered uselessly over Ilya's shoulder, terrified of making things worse. The trainers arrived, pushing gently between players. Shane should have backed away. Instead he stayed where he was, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched for any sign of movement.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, Roz."
Shane caught the look. For all the things they couldn't say publicly, all the things they pretended not to notice, he'd become very good at reading Ilya. It made something ache in Shane's chest. He wished, suddenly and fiercely, that they were somewhere else: somewhere where he didn't need to think before reaching for him.
"Ilya. I mean it." He held his gaze. "Don't do that again." Not because he didn't appreciate it, nor because he wasn't grateful he'd been spared another injury, but because he'd never been as frightened as he'd been watching Ilya lying unconscious on the ice. He glanced, checking the doorway instinctively, before lightly brushing his hand against Ilya's.
"Is there anything I can do...? That's going to help, I mean."
