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Better Than Royalty

A Hollanov Ficlet

(Just a little fluffy something something to read while AO3 is down 🌻)

Summary:

"Did I ever tell you that we tried to set up Shane with a Swedish princess?" she asked. Ilya felt his blood run a little colder at that. "At Wimbledon, they were supposed to sit next to each other. I mean, it wasn't ever a serious plan. Just the kind of silly hope you have for your kid, I guess. When you believe they deserve the best." ... "What I guess I'm trying to say – and what I've been trying to say for a while – is that it's not the first time I've been wrong.

Ilya, even as early as a year ago, couldn't have imagined that one of his favorite things in the world would be sitting in the living room with Shane's mom, watching a Montreal away game while they waited for David to get back from his work function.

Nevertheless, here Ilya was – belly full of mac and cheese, heart full of new stories about little Shane, eyes drinking in not only his Shane, Montreal Captain, on the TV screen in front of him, but also all the versions of Shane from across the years. It felt like a museum to his favorite person in the world, and Ilya's eyes danced hungrily across the walls, trying to commit each image to memory.

He always started in the same place – Shane's prom photo – both because in his little fitted suit he was that perfect combination of handsome and painfully awkward that had always endeared him to Ilya so much (especially with his arms around an equally awkward girl who Shane could barely remember the name of without his mom prompting him), and also because in this photo he looked almost exactly like he had on the day they'd met.

From here, his eyes usually flitted to the photo of Shane at his tenth birthday party which, predictably, was held at an ice rink. This photo was so sweet, it made Ilya's heart ache every time he looked at it for too long: Shane's straight hair was stuck up at every angle, his face was flushed from skating, his eyes were full of tears threatening to spill at any moment, and his mouth was wide with surprise and gratitude as he unwrapped his gift: a Montreal hockey jersey. The photo was hung next to two shadowboxes containing Montreal hockey jerseys – the one from the image, signed by the whole team in 2001, and then another from ten years later signed by just Shane, the rookie who'd worn it. Ilya always looked at this one for a long time. He'd seen Shane in that jersey. Hell, he'd probably (definitely) shoulder-checked him in that jersey, so it always felt like there was also a small piece of his own history hung up in David and Yuna's living room.

It wasn't the only one. On the mantelpiece, a recent addition, was a photo of Ilya unboxing a Christmas gift from Shane – a tiny key chain of a stuffed toy loon ("Haha, so funny, Hollander."), and the puck from the All-Stars game, the first time they'd played on the same team. Shane was smiling, eyes filled with those same tears that pooled at the bottom of his eyes and never seemed to fall. "Just in case you ever wanted a reminder that we're always on the same team." Then, he'd hugged Shane tighter than he'd ever hugged him before, partly to hide his own tears, but mostly because he loved his ridiculous, boring, thoughtful boyfriend so fucking much. The puck was framed in a small shadowbox of its own, where it now lived next to his bed and traveled with him on all road trips.

His eyes roved over the rest of the images: a preteen Shane looking terrified and close to tears as he delivered his one line in the school play, a gappy-grinned Shane on their family dock holding up the tiniest fish in the world while David held up one at least ten times its size, an awkward teen Shane in his prep school uniform on his first day of high school, a Shane from just a few years ago holding up the trophy he'd just won for MVP, two different Shane's – a year apart – each holding a Stanley cup and beaming with pride, a baby Shane asleep in Yuna's arms, a toddler Shane asleep on the couch cuddled up to an equally asleep David. Each photo filled Ilya with a pang at how different and comparatively bleak his own handful of childhood photos were, but also with so much warmth and coziness that he found it hard not to smile every time he looked around.

He always saved his favorite for last. It was blown up and printed on a canvas, so Ilya figured it must be a favorite of David and Yuna's too. In it, Shane, who couldn't be older than four or five, was sitting crouched in the garden. There was a butterfly perched on his tiny little forehead, which would already make the photo magical enough, but it was the laugh on little Shane's face that made Ilya's heart ache with fondness. He couldn't remember ever seeing Shane laugh like that, with complete abandon. He's seen him come close, but there was always a part of Shane that stayed guarded. He didn't even think Shane realized it. Ilya had long since made it his secret life mission to draw that kind of laugh out of him again.

"Oh, L.A. is playing that new Swedish rookie," said Yuna just then, pulling Ilya back into the present. "Great player, but always looks like he's about to throw up."

"Karlsson," Ilya nodded, remembering the last messy time he'd encountered the poor kid. "Sometimes he does throw up. I got a front-row seat. In the splash zone. I hope Shane packed spare shoes."

He was inordinately pleased when Yuna laughed at that. Ilya decided then and there that if he could choose only one thing to do for the rest of his life, it would be to make the Hollanders laugh. All of them.

They fell into silence again, and Ilya couldn't help but notice that Yuna was fidgeting with her hands in the same way Shane did when he was trying to figure out how to say something. Ilya turned towards her so that she knew he was paying attention if she did want to talk to him about something. It worked, because a moment later, Yuna was throwing him a nervous smile.

"Did I ever tell you that we tried to set up Shane with a Swedish princess?" she asked. Ilya felt his blood run a little colder at that. "At Wimbledon, they were supposed to sit next to each other. I mean, it wasn't ever a serious plan. Just the kind of silly hope you have for your kid, I guess. When you believe they deserve the best."

This does nothing to help the ice now flowing through his veins. If Yuna had had her eyes set on a Swedish princess for Shane, why the hell was she letting him settle for Ilya? Surely that meant she wanted more for her son? Was this Yuna saying she didn't think he was good enough for Shane?

Almost as if sensing his turmoil, she continued.

"Shane, of course, put a stop to that plan right away. He told us he didn't want to spend the only two weeks he has off with a stranger he hardly knows. And well, we both know who he chose to spend that summer with."

She placed a hand gently on his forearm then, in a move so maternal, Ilya found a lump forming at the back of his throat.

"What I guess I'm trying to say – and what I've been trying to say for a while – is that it's not the first time I've been wrong. He picked better for himself than I ever could, and I'm forever grateful he did. "

And now Ilya really was crying, both with relief and gratitude to be even a small part of this amazing family. Yuna, seeing this, pulled him into a tight hug.

"He's crazy about you and so are we," she said. "I know the road you two have chosen is tough, but I want you to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that David and I have got your back every step of the way, okay?"

He wasn't familiar with the phrase 'shadow of a doubt' but he got the gist of it, and it made his heart soar to know that David and Yuna thought of him that way.

"Okay, thank you very much."

As they pulled away, he tried to wipe his eyes as quickly as he could, feeling a little embarrassed now. Yuna, a saint in Ilya's eyes, pretended not to notice.

As they settled back into their seats, the reality of what Yuna just told him began to sink in. Shane chose him over a Swedish princess. Ilya knew that he probably never would have actually dated her, being gay and all, but hadn't he even wanted to rub shoulders with a member of royalty to increase his profile? They'd spent those two weeks he could have spent networking in Shane's cottage instead – something that not only did nothing to help his career, but might have actually damaged it depending on how things went.

Shane really did love him then.

He and Yuna watched the rest of the game in comfortable silence, only breaking it to shout the occasional encouragement. When Montreal finally won, both Yuna and Ilya punched the air in victory.

"Oh so you can support Montreal, then?" she laughed. Ilya shook his head.

"Just the captain," he said. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm his biggest fan."

He half expected Yuna to fight him on this, given how their living room was basically a shrine to her son, but she just smiled proudly.

"In a way I don't think a Swedish princess could ever be."

"Eh," says Ilya with a shrug and a smirk. "Russian princesses are better anyway. They don't make cartoon movies about Swedish princesses."

Yuna laughed again and Ilya took the opportunity to clear away their glasses and empty popcorn bowl. While he stood in the kitchen, he fired off a quick message to Shane, pleased when a reply came almost immediately.

Ilya: Nice win, Captain. ❤️ Enjoy it for now until we beat you next week.

Shane: Ottawa? Somehow I think Montreal will be partying again this time next week.

Shane: But also, thanks. ❤️ How was hanging out with mom?

Ilya: Very fun. Mac and cheese is my new favorite. Also she was telling me an interesting story about how you were supposed to go to Wimbledon. I hear am better company than a Swedish princess? I thought you would love royalty. You would have lots of boring things to talk about.

Shane: Well when you put it like that, I might have been too hasty. I could still see how much tickets to Sweden cost. You know, make up for lost time.

Ilya: You're gay, Hollander.

Shane: Sure, but she's gotta have a brother or a cousin or something, right?

Ilya: Hmm. Seems we've been apart for too long. I will have to send a picture to remind you of what you would be missing. Wait a minute.

Ilya set his phone down on the counter and took his time packing the dishes into the dishwasher, knowing what Shane would assume and already laughing at what his reaction was going to be. Sure enough, when he checked his phone again, there were several new messages from Shane.

Shane: Omg please don't take a dick pic at my parents house?!

Shane: Ilya, I'm so serious. Please don't take out your dick at my parent's house.

Shane: Don't. Do it.

Shane: Ilya??

Ilya laughed as he typed back his reply.

Ilya: Relax, Hollander. I was just packing the dishwasher for your mom. You always think I'm up to something.

Shane: Because you usually are.

Ilya: See the work is done so NOW I can go take dick pic.

Shane: I hate you.

Ilya: No you don't. 😘

Shane: No, unfortunately I don't. 😔

Shane: I've gotta go, but I'll give you a call later once I'm back at the hotel, okay? x

Ilya: Okay. Come home soon. Your Russian princess misses you. xx

Shane: You're such an ass.

Shane: I miss you too. Talk to you real soon. ❤️

Ilya: ❤️❤️

Ilya turned to look at the crayon drawing that took pride of place on the fridge: a clumsy self-portrait of Shane in full hockey gear. Ilya's eyes roved over it, taking in every detail from the paper (slightly yellowed with age), to the sun peaking out of the top right corner, to the inscription in a child's scrawling hand.

When I'm big, I want to be a hockey player. - Shane Hollander, 7½.

He couldn't help but smile at it.

"Thank you for choosing me, Shane Hollander, almost twenty seven."