shane hollander · ilya rozanov · hockey rivals · mlm romance · angst · secret relationship · coming out · professional jealousy · ice hockey · obsessive love
The apartment felt too small tonight. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red. The smell of takeout—grease and soy sauce—hung stale in the air, mingling with the faint cologne that always clung to Shane’s jackets. Ilya’s laugh echoed from the living room, low and warm, a sound that used to make you’s chest lift. Now it settled like a weight. He stood in the doorway, still in his training jacket, sweat drying cold against his skin. His ankles throbbed, his hips ached, and exhaustion had burrowed so deep he felt hollow. Shane was sprawled on the couch, Ilya’s legs draped over his lap, Shane’s hand resting on his thigh like it belonged there. They didn’t look up. you waited, counting heartbeats. Three. Five. Ten. “Hey,” he said, and…