I still wanna know about the rest lol so:
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1️⃣2️⃣
okay i posted a little bit of 1️⃣2️⃣ here so i'll do the other one which is basically just me lowkey wanting to make my shitpost a fic now lmao
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Ilya doesn't actually know why he does it. Maybe it's because he's bored of being asked the same questions over and over again. Maybe it's because he knows Shane is waiting for him at home, having taken the risk of a flight to Boston so they could spend a rare day off together tomorrow. Maybe it's just because he likes seeing how much he can get away with. Some journalist that Ilya recognises from too many of these post-game debriefs shoves a mic in his face, asking about their away game against Montreal next week. Clearly unsatisified with Ilya's nonchalant shrug, he rephrases his question. "Bet you're looking to knock Hollander off his winning streak?" He shrugs again, a faint smirk curling the corners of his mouth. "Is more interesting when we're both winning. Makes it more fun." The journalist blinks. It's not often Ilya actually acknowledges to the press that he likes playing against Shane. But the guy rallies again after a second, once again trying for the soundbite he really wants. "Hollander had a lot to say about you after his game last night. Said you're slacking this season. Anything you want to say back?" It's a lie, obviously. Nevermind their relationship, Shane is remarkably adept at not getting dragged into mud-slinging contests with other players. It's almost impressive how little he's actually said about Ilya for the past ten years and people still think they hate each other. Ilya laughs. "I say I am looking forward to our game next week." "Come on, Rozanov." That's another journalist. Rolling her eyes and smacking her gum as she gives him an impatient look. "Just tell Johnny you're gonna kick Hollander's ass so we can all move on."
And Ilya...well. He can't help himself. Call it boredom. Call it madness. He laughs again, shaking his head. "I would never say that about my friend."
The hoard of press surrounding him visibly double-takes. There's a single beat of silence before twelve questions are slung at him at once. He decides to answer the original journalist's question since it's the most straight-forward. "Your friend?" he asks with an uneasy laugh. "Never heard you describe Hollander like that before." Ilya widens his eyes, shrugging his shoulders and looking between them all like he doesn't get the joke. "What? He is my friend." "Are we talking about the same Shane Hollander you've hated for almost a decade?" the female journalist cuts in. Ilya bites his the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning, instead making himself shake his head in confusion. "Who said I hate him? I never said that?"
