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  1. Rec *

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    Shane Hollander doesn't understand why everyone thinks he and Ilya Rozanov hate each other. He's pretty sure that in all the years they've been playing in the league together, they've never even talked before.

    Well, he's kind of sure. He thinks he would remember. He would remember something about Rozanov, if it was really important.

    Right?

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    20 Jul 2026

  2. Rec *

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    “Where are you going?”

    “To the arena, Hollander. We are playing a game in three hours.”

    “That’s tomorrow, Rozanov,” Hollander says, smirking like Ilya might be fucking with him and he wants to make sure he’s in on the joke. He looks behind and around him. “Um, can I come inside?”

    “Hollander, we have game today. You were here yesterday.”

    Hollander is striding toward his kitchen, looking over his shoulder at Ilya like he’s getting tired of the joke. “Very funny. I was in Montreal yesterday, Rozanov.”

    “Hollander.” Ilya goes to stand in front of him. Hollander’s eyes flicker up and down his body the way that Ilya usually craves, but is rather unwelcome right now. “Today is Thursday. Game is today. Yesterday, you came to my house. We ate tuna melts, watched Buffalo game. Then, you left.”

    “Rozanov, it’s Wednesday morning. And I’ve never been to your house before.”

    “Hollander…”

    “Look at your phone if you don’t believe me.”

    Ilya snorts like a bull and pulls his phone out of his pocket, swipes down on the screen to look at the date.

    Wednesday, November 9th.


    Or: Ilya Rozanov in Groundhog Day!

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    20 Jul 2026

  3. Rec 67

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    “We have worked too fucking hard to lose to Vegas,” Roz snarls, slapping the C on his chest. He was probably aiming for the crest and not his letter, but he makes his point regardless. “You know what we were in September. Nobody believed we would make playoffs, not even with Hollander.”

    (Alternatively: Shane wins the cup he was always going to win in 2020, albeit wearing a different colored jersey.)

    Series
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    19 Jul 2026

  4. Rec *

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    “Ilya, what are we gonna do?” Shane says.

    Ilya finishes whatever he has been doing on his phone, and tosses it gently to the bed beside him. He crosses the room to Shane, stands in front of him, squeezes into his shoulders with his big hands, rubbing them like he means to warm them up.

    “Looks like we will have a little vacation,” he says, with a big obnoxious grin.

     


     

    Boston and Montreal are sent to Paris to play against each other in an exhibition series in January 2017. Ilya and Shane decide to stay in Paris for one more night. Just one more night, so they can talk. Maybe finally understand each other.

    They aren't expecting a volcano to erupt in Iceland and close all the airspace in Europe, leaving them stranded there. Together.

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    18 Jul 2026

  5. Rec *

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    “Ah.”

    “‘Ah’,” Ilya repeats, giving him a look before he looks back to the tidily stacked frozen mouse packages in the freezer and makes a face as a little badly-hidden shudder moves through him. “Why the fuck do you have mice in your freezer, Shane? You are doing serial killer shit now? This is why you have cottage in the middle of nowhere? For serial killer things?”

    “It’s for Spaghetti,” Shane says.

    Ilya gives him an absolutely horrified look at that and turns a little green, which makes him remember that Spaghetti isn’t just his snake's name.

    “Not food!” He rushes to explain. “Not food spaghetti! Snake Spaghetti!”

    “What the fuck are you even saying right now,” Ilya says, looking honestly a little concerned that Shane might have something going wrong in his head.

    (Distancing himself from almost twenty years of owning a snake, Shane can indeed see why this situation might be a little alarming for someone on the outside looking in.)

    (It also clues him in to the fact that maybe it’s not just Spaghetti who should have gotten a little adjustment period.)

    (in which i give shane allergies AND a snake)

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    17 Jul 2026